JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 


JEAN  BEMY,  SAILOR 


BY 

PIERRE  LOTI 

Of  the  Academie  Fran$aise 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  BOOK  OF  PITY  AND  OF  DEATH, 
"INTO  MOROCCO,"  ETC. 


TRANSLATED  BY 

E.    P.    ROBINS 


NEW  YORK 

CASSELL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

104  &  106  FOURTH  AVENUE 


COPTKIGHT,  1893,  BT 

CASSELL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


THE  MEB8HON  COMPANY  PRESS, 
BAHWAY,  N.  J. 


JEAN  BEMY,  SAILOR 


MARCHING  in  the  procession  of  the  Fete- 
Dieu,  in  company  with  three  other  children 
attired  like  himself,  was  a  very  small  boy, 
dressed  to  represent  an  angel,  videlicet,  in  a 
little  cambric  shirt  and  a  pair  of  white 
dove's  wings  fastened  on  his  shoulders. 
That  was  in  the  month  of  June,  beneath 
the  warm,  bright  southern  sun,  in  remote 
Provence,  where  it  touches  Italy. 

The  other  three  angels  were  fair  and 
trudged  along  with  eyes  downcast,  mani- 
festly taking  themselves  and  the  situation 
in  general  very  seriously.  But  our  friend, 
little  Jean,  brown  as  a  berry  and  with  a 
tangle  of  curls  surmounting  his  pretty  face, 
the  handsomest  and  strongest  of  them  all, 


2  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

cast  comical  looks  at  the  people  kneeling 
along  his  path,  not  a  whit  impressed  by 
the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and  evidently 
bent  on  having  a  good  time.  He  had  an 
appearance  of  vigor  and  perfect  health, 
with  regular  features,  a  complexion  like 
the  sunny  side  of  a  ripe  peach,  and  eye- 
brows that  resembled  two  narrow  ribbons 
of  black  velvet.  The  expression  of  his 
candid,  laughing  eyes  was  more  infantile, 
more  babyish,  than  accorded  well  with  his 
age  of  six  or  seven  years,  and  the  orbs 
themselves,  dilated  wide  between  lashes 
of  unusual  length,  were  of  a  deep,  limpid 
blue,  surprising  in  that  little  Arab  face. 

His  relatives — a  widowed  mother,  who 
still  wore  mourning  but  had  long  since  laid 
aside  the  long  crape  veil,  and  a  kind  old 
grandfather  in  black  frock  coat  and  white 
cravat — followed  the  procession  at  a  dis- 
tance, among  the  crowd,  a  happy  smile 
upon  their  lips,  proud  to  see  their  darling 
look  so  handsome  and  to  hear  his  praises  in 
the  mouth  of  everyone. 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  3 

Not  blessed  with  superfluity  of  this 
world's  goods  were  they,  this  mother  and 
grandfather,  possessing  nothing  save  a  little 
house  in  town  and  a  small  place  in  the 
country  where  there  were  a  few  orange 
trees  and  a  field  or  two  of  roses  ;  connected 
by  ties  of  kinship,  too,  through  all  this 
part  of  France,  with  people  more  wealthy 
than  themselves,  landowners  and  "per- 
fumers," who  were  inclined  a  little  to  look 
down  on  them.  The  Bernys  were  a  num- 
erous and  important  family  in  that  part 
of  the  world,  whose  strain  had  been  un- 
tainted by  admixture  of  foreign  blood  at 
least  since  the  days  of  the  Saracens,  and 
their  Provencal  type  had  subsisted  in  all 
its  purity.  For  two  generations  they  had 
made  part  of  the  bourgeoisie  of  Antibes. 
Some  old  sea-dogs  among  their  ancestors 
had  sailed  away  in  quest  of  pelf  and  glory, 
even  as  far  as  He  de  Bourbon  and  the 
Indies,  and  thus  it  was  that  nomadic 
instincts,  transmitted  by  heredity  and 
inspiring  fear  and  alarm  in  the  bosoms  of 


4  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

the  mothers,  sometimes  manifested  them- 
selves among  the  young  men  and  boys. 

*As  slowly  and  religiously  she  followed 
the  little  brown  angel  with  the  white 
dove's  wings,  the  widowed  mother  was 
reflecting  on  many  matters,  and  even  as  she 
gazed  on  him  and  her  soul  was  filled  with 
delight  and  pride,  her  joy  was  marred  by  a 
melancholy  preoccupation.  O,  why  the 
impossibility  of  that  sweet  and  childish 
dream — the  dream  that  every  mother  fondly 
cherishes — of  keeping  him  by  her  as  she 
beheld  him  now,  a  little  boy  with  limpid 
eyes  and  curly  head  !  O,  why  does  the 
future  swallow  up  the  present  thus  remorse- 
lessly !  Soon  there  would  be  so  many  dif- 
ficulties to  be  faced  and  conquered  for  the 
sake  of  this  wayward  and  charming  little 
creature,  who,  notwithstanding  his  baby 
eyes,  was  already  beginning  to  assume 
mannish  ways,  who  had  troublesome  freaks 
and  fancies  now  and  then,  and  would  run 
away  from  home  to  play  and  roam  the 
fields  till  nightfall,  no  one  knew  where. 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  5 

To  give  him  an  education  equal  to  his 
cousins,  so  much  richer  than  he,  what  was 
she  to  do,  how  was  she  to  manage  ?  And 
if  he  should  refuse  to  work  after  all  their 
sacrifices,  what  would  become  of  them  ? 
By  this  time  she  had  ceased  to  smile,  and 
was  heedless  alike  of  the  white-robed  maid- 
ens in  the  procession,  the  cheerful  sunlight 
and  the  fleeting  present ;  her  mind  was 
dwelling  exclusively  on  this  one  thought, 
a  little  narrow,  it  may  be,  but  so  motherly 
and  that  had  been  her  guiding  star  through 
life — how  could  she  manage  to  make  of  her 
poor,  penniless  little  Jean  a  man  who  should 
be  at  least  the  equal  of  the  other  boys  of 
that  proud  Berny  family. 


II 

A  BOY  of  ten  or  thereabout,  with  a  man- 
ner that  indicated  a  superabundant  fund 
,of  energy  and  daring,  already  approaching 
young  manhood,  but  with  the  same  babyish 
expression  and  laughing  limpidity  in  the 
handsome  eyes  with  their  enframement  of 
black  velvet,  was  walking  slowly  up  and 
down  the  beach  at  Antibes,  accompanied 
by  three  or  four  other  urchins  of  his  own 
age,  one  of  whom,  four  years  ago,  had  also 
figured  as  an  angel  in  the  procession  of  the 
Fete-Dieu. 

Perceiving  a  felucca  stranded  on  the 
flats,  motionless  and  with  a  heavy  list  to 
port,  the  little  choppy  blue  waves  of  the 
Mediterranean  eddying  and  swirling  around 
her,  they  hurried  off  with  the  resolute  and 
knowing  air  of  old  sailors  to  lend  a  helping 
hand,  while  the  fishermen,  baring  their 

6 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  1 

swarthy  legs,  leaped  overboard  to  pull 
their  vessel  off. 

It  was  a  beautiful  Easter  Sunday.  Jean 
was  wearing  man's  attire  that  day  for  the 
first  time,  jacket  and  trousers,  with  a  little 
brown  felt  hat  set  off  by  a  velvet  ribbon, 
which  he  wore  very  far  back  on  his  head, 
sailor  fashion.  Attired  in  the  same  pretty, 
brand  new  suit,  he  had  attended  high  mass 
that  morning  with  his  mother;  and  now 
the  time,  longed  for  with  such  impatience, 
had  come,  when  he  could  be  off  and  amuse 
himself  with  his  companions. 

At  evening,  as  was  always  the  case,  he 
came  in  late  to  dinner,  after  a  day  spent  in 
roaming  about  the  old  port  and  climbing 
over  the  ships.  His  new  clothes  were  in  a 
sorry  plight,  notwithstanding  the  entreaties 
and  admonitions  his  mother  had  given  him 
that  morning,  and  the  little  brown  felt  was 
cocked  all  of  one  side  over  his  tangled  curls 
and  perspiring  forehead.  He  wras  scolded 
a  little,  but  very  gently,  as  was  the  case 
always. 


8  JEAN  BERNY,   SAILOR 

Because  it  was  a  fete  day  and  they  were 
to  go  out  after  dinner  he  did  not  change 
his  fine  new  suit  before  sitting  down  at 
table.  The  fancy  seizing  him,  he  even 
asked  permission  to  wear  the  pretty,  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  than  which  life  had  nothing 
more  dear  to  him.  The  old  grandfather, 
who  always  took  dinner  with  his  daughter 
Sundays,  was  there,  too,  as  ever  wearing 
the  black  frock  and  white  cravat  that  gave 
to  his  semi-poverty  an  aspect  of  respect- 
ability. And  the  twilight,  the  limpid,  cre- 
puscular light  of  springtime,  shed  its  soft, 
rosy  splendor  upon  the  homely  board  that 
old  Miette,  the  maid  of  all  work,  had  spread 
for  the  family  for  many  a  long  year. 

For  all  his  love  of  fun  and  sport,  which 
was  uppermost  pretty  constantly  with  him, 
Jean  loved  them  both  well,  mamma  and 
grandfather ;  in  his  impulsive,  fitful  little 
heart,  that  was  too  apt  to  forget  what  it 
should  have  remembered,  they  had  a  safe, 
warm  corner,  although  it  was  sometimes 
hard  to  find.  And  now,  at  that  very 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  9 

moment,  in  spite  of  his  inattention  and 
absent-mindedness,  in  spite  of  the  tantalizing 
desire  he  felt  to  be  out  under  the  open  sky, 
a  new  picture  of  them  was  forming  in  his 
mind,  overlying  and  obliterating  the  more 
ancient  ones,  a  picture  more  lasting  than 
those  that  had  gone  before,  and  that  in  the 
future  would  be  cherished  more  fondly  and 
regretted  more  keenly.  So,  too,  were  en- 
graved more  deeply  on  the  tablet  of  his  mem- 
ory the  unprepossessing  features  of  poor, 
humble  Miette,  who  had  helped  to  rear  him 
and  rocked  his  cradle  when  he  was  a  baby  ; 
so,  too,  with  every  trivial  detail  about  the 
house,  so  Provencal  in  appearance,  arrange- 
ment and  odors,  where  he  first  saw  the 
light.  There  are  certain  moments  in  our 
life  that  seem  to  have  in  them  nothing  of 
special  import,  nothing  more  or  less  than 
the  countless  others  of  which  we  take  no 
note,  and  which  yet  become  to  us  as  land- 
marks, milestones  never  to  be  forgotten  amid 
the  swift  flight  of  hurrying  years.  Thus 
was  it  with  that  dinner  hour  at  Eastertide 


10  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

for  that  small  creature,  so  mere  a  child,  who 
doubtless  had  never  until  then  known  what 
it  was  to  think  with  such  intensity  and 
unconscious  profundity.  And  to  that 
impression,  which  had  suddenly  stamped 
itself  upon  his  mind  in  such  vivid  and 
unfading  colors,  of  his  mother's  loving, 
anxious  eyes,  of  the  old  grandfather's  face,  so 
full  of  gentle  resignation,  rising  above  the 
snow-white  cravat,  there  came  mingling 
with  the  others — for  the  always  of  human- 
ity, that  is  to  say,  for  all  his  lifetime — a 
host  of  secondary  elements  :  his  assumption 
of  man's  attire,  presage  of  greater  liberty 
and  an  adventurous  life ;  the  color  of  the 
new  paper  on  the  walls  of  the  dining-room ; 
some  other  inexpensive  embellishments 
about  the  premises  of  which  he  was  very 
proud ;  the  delightful  prospect  of  a  week's 
vacation  that  lay  before  him ;  the  im- 
pression of  approaching  summer,  the 
charm  of  those  early  splendors  of  protracted 
twilight,  of  that  period  of  the  year  when 
they  were  first  permitted  to  dine  in  the 


JEAN  BERNY,   SAILOR  11 

expiring  transparency  of  daylight,  without 
the  lamp;  and,  finally,  the  multitude  of 
inexpressible  small  things  that,  taken  to- 
gether, formed  a  tenderly  melancholy  back- 
ground for  that  happy  evening.  The  gal- 
lery of  pictures  that  was  formed  there, 
deep  in  his  memory,  and  so  closely  linked 
together  that  they  could  not  be  torn  one 
from  another,  might  have  been  fitly  styled 
instantaneous  photographs  of  an  Easter 
Sunday. 

And  all  the  while  she,  the  mother,  was 
watching  him  with  increasing  anxiety,  be- 
holding him  so  absent  and  preoccupied,  his 
thoughts  so  far  away  from  home  and  her ! 
For  a  long  time  she  had  been  cherishing  an 
idea,  a  fixed,  fond  plan,  whereby  she  might 
keep  this  only  son  of  hers  in  Provence  and 
have  him  for  a  delight  and  prop  to  her 
declining  years ;  an  uncle,  the  only  one  of 
the  rich  Bernys  who  had  ever  condescended 
to  notice  his  poor,  handsome  little  nephew, 
was  one  of  the  perfumers  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, or,  in  other  words,  he  owned  up  on 


12  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR. 

the  mountain  a  factory  where  the  heaps  and 
heaps  of  roses  and  geraniums  that  were 
gathered  in  the  fields  about  were  made  to 
surrender  by  distillation  their  sweet  odors ; 
and  he  had  promised  to  provide  for  Jean's 
future,  and  ultimately  make  the  business 
over  to  him,  if  Jean,  as  he  grew  to  man- 
hood, showed  himself  obedient  and  indus- 
trious. 

But  on  that  pleasant  Easter  evening  her 
melancholy  and  despair  grew  darker  and 
deeper  as  she  saw  with  what  fixed  intensity 
he  gazed  from  out  the  open  window  upon 
the  port,  crowded  with  white-winged  ships 
and  swift  feluccas  darting  here  and  there, 
and  beyond  the  broad  stretch  of  deep  blue 
sea. 


Ill 

Ox  a  bright,  stiflingly  hot  afternoon  late 
in  June,  in  a  class-room  into  which  the  sun, 
his  daily  course  now  almost  ended,  was 
pouring  floods  of  light,  a  tall,  handsome 
young  fellow,  of  manly  proportions,  close- 
buttoned  in  his  tightly  fitting  collegian's 
tunic,  was  indulging  in  a  day-dream,  all  by 
himself,  his  eyes  filled  with  idle  speculation. 

The  classes  had  been  dismissed,  the  town 
boys  had  gone  to  their  homes,  the  others 
were  diverting  themselves  in  a  remote  play- 
ground. He,  Jean,  who  was  one  of  the  few 
boarders  in  this  Provengal  college  of  Mar- 
istes,  was  enjoying  this  evening  a  brief 
respite  from  his  labors  in  recognition  of  his 
name  having  appeared  that  day  in  the  Offi- 
cial Bulletin :  Jean  Berny,  candidate  for 
the  Naval  School.  And  he  had  come  to 
13 


14  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

this  class-room  that  he  might  be  alone,  and 
reflect  on  the  future  of  adventure  that  he 
beheld  before  him. 

His  mother,  it  is  unnecessary  to  state, 
had  abandoned  all  her  cherished  plans ; 
since  it  was  his  wish,  she  had  consented 
that  he  should  adopt  that  seafaring  life 
which  she  held  in  such  dread  and  horror, 
and,  once  the  matter  settled,  that  he  might 
pass  successfully,  had  condemned  herself 
to  a  life  of  severe  and  unintermitting  pri- 
vation. 

A  candidate  for  the  Borda  !  And  yet 
he  had  been  an  idler  and  a  drone,  had 
wasted  his  time  and  perpetrated  every 
description  of  boyish  prank  from  beginning 
to  end  of  his  schooldays,  wrhile  there  at 
home  the  mamma  and  grandfather,  and  old 
Miette,  too,  in  her  humble  way,  were  pinch- 
ing themselves  to  pay  his  bills  for  board 
and  instruction. 

But  now  that  there  was  a  chance  of  his 
passing,  he  had  said  to  himself  that  he 
would  turn  to  the  best  account  he  knew 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  15 

how  the  two  months  that  were  left  to  him 
before  the  dreaded  final  oral  examination, 
but  he  would  grant  himself  a  holiday  for 
this  evening  and  the  morrow,  just  to  reflect 
on  matters  a  bit. 

He  had  begun  by  setting  down  on  the 
first  page  of  his  exercise  books,  opposite 
his  name,  the  glorious  and  ever  to  be  remem- 
bered day  of  the  week,  month  and  year. 
And  now  he  was  thinking  of  far  distant 
lands,  whose  shores  were  washed  by  strange 
and  unknown  seas. 

About  him  on  every  side  the  repose  of  the 
dying  day  was  descending  on  the  old  Marist 
college;  the  empty  rooms,  the  deserted 
corridors  were  filled  with  the  sonorous 
silence  of  the  summer  evening;  streaming 
through  the  wide-open  windows  the  golden 
light  of  the  declining  sun  penetrated  every- 
where, illuminating  dark  corners,  casting  a 
warm  splendor  on  the  bare  walls,  roughly 
smeared  with  yellow  ochre,  and  in  the  blue 
sky  above  clouds  of  dusky  swallows  were 
wheeling,  advancing,  and  receding,  drunk 


16  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

with  light  and  motion,  and  at  every  turn 
in  their  swift  flight  hurling  against  the 
silent  college  their  shrill,  strident  cry. 

And  deep  down  in  the  recesses  of  Jean's 
memory  a  picture  was  forming  of  this 
summer  evening  and  all  these  attending 
circumstances — as  formerly  of  the  dinner 
at  Eastertide — another  landmark,  another 
headland  in  the  ocean  of  life,  but  this  time 
with  more  of  the  mysterious  and  foreign 
in  it,  with  more  of  vague,  unexplained  mel- 
ancholy in  the  environment. 

Until  the  hour  when  the  first  bats  came 
flitting  forth  in  silence  from  beneath  the 
hot  timbers  of  the  old  roof  did  he  remain 
there,  tranquil  and  solitary,  dreamily  re- 
flecting on  the  future  and  on  the  career 
that  was  so  near  as  almost  to  be  within  his 
grasp.  And  the  splendor  of  the  atmos- 
phere spoke  to  him  of  yellow  sands  and 
glaring  sunlight,  of  cities  of  the  Orient,  of 
strands  that  man's  foot  had  never  pressed, 
and,  vaguely,  too,  of  love. 


IV 

IT  is  two  months  later  at  Antibes,  about 
the  middle  of  vacation. 

The  time  was  at  hand  when  the  list  of 
appointments  to  the  Naval  School  would 
be  made  public.  An  atmosphere  of  po'ig- 
nant  expectation  pervaded  the  little  house, 
on  which  the  hot  Provencal  sun  beat  fiercely, 
whither  day  after  day,  as  soon  as  the  Offi- 
cial was  received,  came  the  grandfather  to 
say  there  was  no  news.  Through  some  of 
the  wealthy  Bernys  who  had  grudgingly 
consented  to  lend  their  influence,  letters  of 
recommendation  to  the  examiners  had  been 
secured  from  some  men  of  note — and  Jean's 
mother  was  hopeful.  It  was,  in  a  measure, 
a  question  of  life  and  death  with  him,  how- 
ever, for  he  would  soon  be  seventeen,  and 
should  he  be  rejected,  admission  to  the 

17 


18  JEANBERNY,  SAILOR 

Borda  would  evermore  be  inexorably 
denied  him. 

As  for  him,  the  lack  of  interest  he  dis- 
played was  incomprehensible.  Some  new 
notion,  which  alarmed  and  distressed  his 
relatives,  seemed  to  have  germinated  in 
that  comely  head  of  his,  so  thoughtless  and 
yet  so  stubborn,  so  difficult  to  guide  aright, 
for  such  utter  unconcern  was  not  to  be 
accounted  for,  even  on  the  ground  of  his 
extreme  boyishness.  It  really  seemed  as 
if  a  sailor's  life  had  ceased  to  have  attrac- 
tions for  him.  But  they  both  hung  back 
and  refrained  from  questioning  him,  fearing 
to  know  the  worst. 

He,  however,  now  a  young  man  grown, 
boasting  a  silky  mustache  and  wearing  a 
handsome  English  suit  in  place  of  the  dis- 
carded schoolboy's  tunic,  was  almost  con- 
stantly away  from  home,  and  lingered, 
love-making  among  the  pretty  girls,  until 
the  night  was  far  advanced. 

And  yet  it  was  the  self -same,  frank,  limpid 
eyes,  gray-blue  in  color,  looking  out  from  be- 


JEANBERNY,   SAILOR  19 

tween  intensely  black,  curved  lashes,  the 
eyes  of  the  little  angel  of  the  Fete-Dieu,  that 
illuminated  his  face,  now  radiant  with  the 
pride  of  manhood.  And  no  one  looking  in 
those  eyes,  so  childishly  irresponsible,  but 
at  the  same  time  so  tender  and  so  kindly, 
could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  chide  him  or 
say  an  ungentle  word  to  him. 

And  his  eyes  did  not  belie  him ;  he  was 
as  affectionate  and  tender-hearted  as  their 
expression  denoted  him  to  be,  was  this 
rattle-pated  Jean.  For  his  mother  and 
grandfather,  to  whom  he  had  been  an  al- 
most constant  source  of  anxiety,  his  love 
amounted  to  adoration.  If  he  was  captious 
and  fretful  with  them  at  times,  as  was 
often  the  case,  the  reason  was  that  in  his 
eyes  they  still  personified  authority,  against 
which  his  untrained  nature  incessantly 
rebelled.  The  better  side  of  his  disposition 
he  displayed  to  the  poor  and  lowly,  to  old 
Miette  now  and  then,  to  little  beggar  boys, 
to  feeble  old  paupers,  to  suffering  animals ; 
and  the  house  was  always  pervaded  by 


20  JEANBERNY,  SAILOR 

three  or  four  ugly,  half-starved  cats,  that 
it  was  comical  to  see  him  bring  in  tenderly 
in  his  arms,  after  having  saved  them  from 
their  appointed  death  by  drowning. 

One  day  the  old  grandfather,  trim  and 
respectable  as  ever  in  his  well-brushed 
black  frock,  which,  in  order  that  his  grand- 
son might  have  the  benefit  of  another  tutor 
was  doing  its  second  year's  service,  came  in 
later  than  usual,  with  a  step  more  feeble  and 
tottering  than  was  his  wont.  Miette,  who 
had  been  watching  at  the  kitchen  window 
for  his  coming,  alarmed  to  seehini  with  a  news- 
paper in  his  hand,  hastily  pulled  to  the  shut- 
ters as  if  to  retard  the  dreaded  moment  when 
the  truth  must  Be  known,  seated  herself, 
her  heart  beating  violently,  and  waited. 

He  entered,  and  when  he  had  climbed 
the  stairs  to  the  little  first  floor  drawing- 
room,  called  in  a  voice  that  was  strangely 
unlike  his  own : 

"Henriette,  my  daughter,  quick,  come 
here!" 


JEANBERNT,  SAILOR  21 

She  came  hurrying  to  him,  panting 
breathlessly. 

"  What  is  it  ?  He  has  been  rejected, 
hasn't  he?" 

"Well,  yes — yes,  my  daughter.  At  least 
we  shall  have  to  think  so,  for  here  is  the 
Official,  and  his  name  does  not  appear  in  it." 

"  O  my  Lord,  my  God ! "  was  all  the  poor 
mother  said,  wringing  her  hands,  in  a  faint, 
broken-hearted  voice.  And  they  sat  there, 
the  old  man  and  she,  in  silence,  pressing 
closely  to  each  other's  side,  stricken  dumb 
by  the  wreck  of  all  their  earthly  hopes. 
There  was  nothing  left  for  them  to  say ; 
during  those  days  of  waiting  and  suspense 
they  had  exhausted  the  subject  in  their 
anxious  colloquies,  had  looked  this  irreme- 
diable disaster  in  the  face  and  examined  it 
in  all  its  consequences.  What  would  he 
do,  that  Jean  to  whom  they  had  not  found 
courage  to  speak  their  mind,  what  effort 
would  he  consent  to  make  ?  To  maintain 
him  at  school  on  an  equality  with  his  com- 
panions, to  preserve  to  the  little  house  and 


22  JEANBERNT,  SAILOR 

to  its  inmates  an  outward  show  of  respect- 
ability, they  had  been  reduced  to  the  neces- 
sity of  becoming  borrowers  and  had  mort- 
gaged the  country  property,  the  orange 
trees  and  fields  of  roses  that  had  been 
handed  down  from  father  to  son  for  genera- 
tions. And  now  that  the  end  for  which 
they  had  sacrificed  their  all  was  no  longer, 
and  would  never  be,  capable  of  attainment, 
they  could  not  see  their  way  before  them ; 
no,  in  their  lack  of  means  to  provide  another 
career  for  their  son,  they  could  not  see 
their  way  at  all.  Their  life  was  shattered, 
their  small  world  seemed  to  them  to  be 
drawing  to  an  end.  Forebodings  of  disas- 
ter, inevitable  and  irretrievable,  floated 
before  their  mental  vision,  and,  without  well 
knowing  why,  they  looked  upon  their  Jean 
as  one  for  whom  there  was  no  longer  hope 
in  life.  And  as  they  continued  to  sit  there 
in  mournful  silence,  it  seemed  to  them  that 
over  their  poor  home  that  they  had  loved 
so  well,  that  they  had  sacrificed  so  much 
to  save,  there  passed  a  chill  wind,  breath- 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  23 

ing  menace   of  dispersion  and  piecemeal 
ruin. 

And  now  to  them  came  he,  with  the  light 
step  of  the  thoughtless  idler,  in  his  button- 
hole a  red  rose  that  a  pretty  girl  who  loved 
him  had  placed  there. 

"  O  Monsieur  Jean  !  "  said  Miette,  stand- 
ing in  the  corridor, "  come  in,  come  in,  quick. 
Go  up  and  see  your  poor  mother  and  the 
grandfather,  who  are  above,  awaiting 
you." 

"  How  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  said 
off-handedly,  assuming  his  mannish  air  of 
unconcern.  The  distress  on  Miette's  face 
had  told  him  all. 

He  entered  the  unpretentious  little  draw- 
ing-room, where,  as  the  maid  had  said,  they 
were  awaiting  him,  and  toward  which, 
exchanging  no  word,  they  had  heard  him 
coming  up  the  stair.  He  came  forward 
with  the  embarrassed  air  and  bearing  of  a 

O 

schoolboy  detected  in  some  trivial  pecca- 
dillo, with  partly  averted  face,  and  in  his 


24  JEANBERNT,  SAILOR 

soft,  velvety  eyes  there  was  something,  an 
imperceptible  smile,  approaching  bravado. 
Of  their  deep  distress  he  saw  nothing. 
For  his  own  part,  he  was  neither  surprised 
nor  disappointed,  for  he  had  long  since 
ceased  to  hope,  knowing  as  he  did,  better 
than  anyone  else,  how  he  had  frittered  away 
his  time  up  to  the  very  last  minute,  and  at 
the  oral  examination  had  cut  a  sorry  figure. 
There  had  been  five  or  six  boys  of  his  stamp 
at  the  Marist  college,  who,  looking  forward 
to  the  possibility  of  a  failure,  had  mutually 
pledged  themselves  to  take  service  in  the 
merchant  marine.  The  blue  shirt  had  no 
terrors  for  those  lads;  on  the  contrary,  it 
had  an  attraction  and  a  charm  for  them,  as 
is  the  case  with  many  a  man  who  follows 
the  sea  solely  for  the  pleasure  he  derives  from 
sporting  its  distinctive  costume.  And  dur- 
ing the  month  of  inactivity  that  the  vacation 
afforded  him  he  had  had  time  to  perfect  his 
plans  for  the  future,  which  had  much  com- 
mon sense  to  commend  them,  and  to  accus- 
tom himself  in  thought  to  his  new  and 


JEAN  BERNY,   SAILOR  25 

laborious  life.  He  would  commence  at  the 
foot  of  the  ladder,  as  a  common,  plain 
sailor-boy,  and  work  his  way  up ;  in  this 
way  he  would  be  obeying  the  bidding  of 
his  maritime  instincts,  and,  it  might  be, 
would  see  more  of  the  world  and  encounter 

more   thrilling    adventures    than    in   the 

0  . 
navy.    . 

"  Pooh  ! "  he  exclaimed,  without  looking 
at  the  sheet  which  his  grandfather's  trem- 
bling hand  held  out  to  him ;  "  what  do  I 
care  for  their  old  Borda,  since  I  shall  be  a 
sailor  all  the  same  ! " 

A  sailor  all  the  same.  A  common  sea- 
man, then,  the  career  in  all  the  world  his 
mother  most  disliked  and  dreaded  !  He 
announced  his  determination  with  the  calm- 
ness of  unalterable  resolution — and  therein 
lay  the  secret  of  his  tranquil  unconcern, 
that  she  had  not  until  then  succeeded  in 
divining.  Falling  on  them  in  the  midst  of 
their  gloomy  silence,  this  boyish  utterance 
was  the  resume  and  explanation  of  the 
somber,  mysterious  things  that  tad  been 


26  JEANBERNY,   SAILOR 

hanging  in  the  air,  the  forebodings  of  ruin, 
misery  and  death. 

He  looked  them  in  the  face,  now,  a  thing 
he  had  not  dared  to  do  when  he  first  came 
in.  He  looked  at  them  with  an  air  that 
was  firm  and  decided  still,  but  was  very 
gentle,  and  grew  gentler  and  gentler  yet, 
with  an  expression  of  melancholy  on  his 
face  that  became  more  and  more  strongly 
marked.  A  sudden  light  had  flashed  in  on 
his  unreflective,  happy-go-lucky  mind  ;  all 
the  sacrifices  that  had  been  so  carefully 
kept  hid  from  him,  aL  the  pinching  and 
mute  privation,  he  now  divined  for  the 
first  time ;  his  love  for  them  was  swollen 
by  a  sentiment  that  was  new  to  him,  one 
of  profound  and  tender  compassion ;  and  as 
he  remarked  the  shiny  spots  that  constant 
wear  had  left  on  his  grandfather's  carefully 
preserved  coat,  he  felt  himself  melted  and 
subdued  as  by  a  supreme  prayer.  Had  his 
mother  but  asked  him  then  he  would  have 
renounced  all  his  youthful  dreams  of  adven- 
ture; would  have  consented  to  all  they 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  27 

could  have  desired,  embracing  them  the 
while,  and  weeping  hot  tears. 

But  she  did  not  read  him  rightly ;  hurt 
in  her  maternal  pride,  misjudging  him  and 
his  intentions,  wounded  and  grieved  in 
every  fiber  of  her  being,  she  spoke  to  him 
in  accents  of  severity,  at  that  crucial  mo- 
ment when  his  heart  was  overflowing  with 
tender  sympathy  for  her.  Then  he  hard- 
ened himself  in  turn ;  the  eyes  of  the  little 
angel  of  the  Fete-D'ieu,  which  had  reap- 
peared but  now  in  all  their  soft  limpidity, 
became  set  and  dry,  and  he  left  the  room, 
his  determination  now  fixed  beyond  recall, 
immutably. 

As  he  passed  through  the  hall  down- 
stairs, beholding  old  Miette  weeping  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension:  "  Cheer  up  !  Miette 
mine,"  he  cried,  "  don't  grieve.  This  is  not 
the  end  of  the  business,  don't  you  see. 
There  are  plenty  of  other  ways  to  be  a  sailor." 

"  How  is  that,  Monsieur  Jean  ? "  she 
asked,  lending  an  attentive  and  credulous 
ear.  "  I  thought  it  was  all  ended." 


28  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

Then  he  entered  the  neat  kitchen  and 
sat  down  to  tell  her  what  he  had  planned. 
Dissatisfied  with  himself  at  heart  and  op- 
pressed by  a  sensation  of  melancholy  that, 
until  then,  he  had  been  a  stranger  to,  lack- 
ing courage  to  go  abroad  and  unable  to 
endure  the  thought  of  facing  those  in  the 
room  above,  he  lingered  long  at  her  side. 
"When  J  shall  have  served  my  time  before 
the  mast,  you  see,"  he  told  her,  "  I  will  ship 
with  captains  who  make  the  long  voyage  ; 
in  that  way  I  shall  more  quickly  get  a  ship 
of  my  own.  I  am  just  as  well  pleased,  I 
assure  you,  that  matters  have  turned  out 

the  way  they  have "  and  seeing  that 

she  was  looking  at  him  and  smiling 
through  her  tears,  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her,  lowly  as  she  was,  poor  old 
Miette. 


V 

OCTOBER  was  drawing  to  an  end  in  a 
glory  of  tranquil  sunshine. 

The  light  that  fell  day  by  day  on  the 
Berny  residence  was  clear  and  bright  as 
ever,  the  heavens  above  were  immutably 
blue,  but  the  little  house  was  dark  and 
cheerless  since  the  day  that  the  great  disap- 
pointment had  come  within  its  door. 

A  rough  sailor's  kit — shirts  of  coarse 
linen,  trousers  and  pea-jackets  of  stout, 
serviceable  cloth,  which  the  women  spoke 
of  in  a  whisper,  with  bated  breath,  and 
showed  to  no  one — was  being  made  ready, 
with  Miette's  assistance,  in  the  little  dining- 
room  whose  windows  looked  out  upon  the 
sea. 

The  other  Bernys,  the  rich  uncles  and 
cousins,  had  been  informed  by  Jean's  grand- 
39 


30  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

father,  with  an  ill-feigned  air  of  nonchalance, 
of  the  decision  that  had  been  arrived  at : 
"  Yes,  we  are  going  to  let  him  serve  aboard  a 
trading  vessel  for  a  while,  so  that  he  may 
finish  his  apprenticeship  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, since  his  mind  is  bent  on  sailing  in  a 
deep-water  ship  and  seeing  something  of 
the  world.  Perhaps  our  dear  boy  will 
change  his  mind  when  he  has  had  some 
experience  of  the  life ;  in  that  case,  we  shall 
be  only  too  happy  to  direct  him  toward 
another  career.  But,  for  the  time  being,  his 
inclination  in  that  direction  seems  to  be  so 
strong  that  his  mother  and  I  thought  it  our 
duty  not  to  thwart  it."  And  then  those 
other  Bernys,  more  insolently  patronizing 
than  ever,  and  placing  little  confidence  in 
the  future  of  the  officer  who  has  to  work 
for  his  living,  wanted  to  know  the  name  of 
the  ship  in  which  he  was  to  sail. 

Oh,  as  for  that,  she  was  a  very  unassum- 
ing little  craft,  hailing  from  the  port  of 
Antibes — the  most  convenient  arrangement 
they  had  been  able  to  make  to  enable  him 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  31 

to  come  home  to  them  once  in  a  while — a 
small  brig  that  was  loading  up  for  the 
islands  of  the  Levant  with  terra  cotta  jars 
made  at  Vallauris. 

In  addition  to  his  other  mental  suffering 
the  poor  old  man  was  cruelly  afflicted  in 
his  pride.  For  some  twenty  years  now 
his  daughter  Henrietta,  by  reason  of  her 
slender  fortune,  had  been  unable  to  secure 
complete  recognition  from  that  Berny 
family  of  which  she  had  become  one  by 
marriage.  From  the  time  she  was  made  a 
widow  and  thrown  on  her  own  resources, 
he  had  been  uncomplainingly  enduring  a 
constant  martyrdom  of  concealed  privation 
for  her  sake,  to  the  end  that  she  might  pre- 
serve appearances,  not  discharge  Miette, 
not  sell  her  house,  and,  above  all,  pay  for 

Jean's  education  at  the  Marist  College  in 

~ 

Grasse.  And  now  that  grandson,  that  Jean 
whom  he  adored  in  spite  of  all  and  perhaps 
more  tenderly  than  ever,  as  the  end  of  his 
life  of  sacrifice  was  drawing  near,  was 
causing  him  this  supreme  humiliation,  was 


32  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

going  to  be  a  common  seaman  before  the 
mast,  a  sailor-boy  on  board  a  "  trader,"  as 
the  son  of  the  meanest  laborer  or  fisherman 
of  the  port  might  have  done.  What  availed 
it  to  keep  up  the  vain  struggle,  the  hand- 
to-mouth  existence  from  day  to  day,  what 
availed  anything. — Now  that  he  had  ful- 
filled the  duty  that  respect  for  observances 
imposed  on  him  and  had  communicated  to 
the  various  members  of  the  Berny  family 
the  decision  that  had  been  reached,  it 
appeared  to  him  that  his  usefulness  in  life 
had  departed  and  that  he  no  longer  had 
any  object  to  live  for;  he  would  have 
wished  to  remain  at  home,  in  his  own  bare, 
cheerless  apartment,  where  the  furniture 
wTas  dim  and  faded  with  age,  and  there  lie 
down  and  await  the  end. 

But  it  was  Sunday  evening,  the  day 
traditionally  devoted  to  dining  with  his 
daughter ;  he  roused  up  a  bit  at  the  thought, 
and  said  to  himself  that  he  would  dress  and 
make  ready  to  go — the  more  that  this  Sun- 
day would  bethelast  before  Jean's  departure. 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  33 

He  felt  old,  broken-down  and  weary  as 
he  had  never  felt  before.  And  when, 
before  going  out  upon  the  street  where  his 
acquaintance  saluted  him  more  cavalierly 
than  in  the  past,  he  began  from  force  of 
habit  to  brush  the  poor  old  black  frock 
that  had  done  him  such  long  and  faithful 
service,  a  fit  of  discouragement  came  over 
him,  for  that  as  for  all  the  rest ;  in  the 
sentiment  of  his  only  grandson's  disgrace 
his  appearance,  to  which  he  had  always 
devoted  such  jealous  care  in  the  midst  of 
want  and  privation,  his  appearance,  to-day, 
seemed  to  him  a  matter  of  little  moment. 
And  tears  rose  to  his  dim,  lusterless  eyes 
— those  old  man's  tears  that  are  more 
bitter  than  others,  and  flow  unwillingly 
from  their  exhausted  spring. 

Jean,  for  his  part,  let  the  days  go  by  in 
loitering  aimlessly  and  building  castles  in 
the  air,  with  a  vague  melancholy,  now  for 
the  first  time  noticeable  there,  in  his  eyes 
that  had  at  times  a  look  of  vacancy  and  in 


34  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

his  gentler  manner.  He  remained  at  home 
much  more  than  he  had  been  used  to  do, 
and  the  port  ceased  to  have  attractions 
now  that  he  had  the  certain  assurance  of 
soon  being  one  of  those  who  go  down  to 
the  sea  in  ships.  He  hung  about  the 
house,  casting  lingering  looks  on  the  old 
familiar  spots  and  thinking.  Or  he  would 
betake  himself,  alone  and  solitary,  to  the 
old  ancestral  country  place  and  shut  him- 
self in  the  untended  garden,  where  chrysan- 
themums and  autumnal  asters  overran  the 
walks,  and  there  spend  hours  communing 
with  his  thoughts,  while  lizards  sported 
on  the  gray  wall  and  golden  oranges  hung 
from  the  trees  in  the  October  sunlight. 
His  boyhood  was  ending  with  the  summer ; 
with  the  glory  of  that  sun,  already  declin- 
ing to  the  south  and  presaging  the  approach 
of  winter's  melancholy  days,  would  pass 
away  his  happy,  careless  youth  ;  he  felt  this 
keenly,  with  an  impression  of  terror  and 
regret  never  experienced  before. 

While  thus  awaiting  the  time  of  his  de- 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  35 

parture  his  mind  did  not  pursue  a  fixed, 
consecutive  train  of  thought,  but  gave  itself 

O         *  O 

up  more  and  more  to  vague  fancies  and 
dreams  of  distant  lands.  He  read  much, 
also,  during  the  long  idleness  that  was  so 
rapidly  drawing  to  an  end,  and  his  choice 
of  books — or  rather  of  disconnected  pas- 
sages of  books — that,  disdainfully  putting 
aside  all  others,  he  selected  for  the  charm 
they  exercised  on  his  imagination,  indi- 
cated, as  did  his  long  eyes  and  pure  pro- 
file, diffused  transmitted  Oriental  tenden- 
cies. He  was  a  compound  of  irreclaimable 
boyishness,  physical  exuberance,  rude  sim- 
plicity— and  unconscious,  unfathomable 
poetry.  In  the  course  of  his  miscellaneous 
reading  he  had  come  across,  with  the  im- 
pression that  they  were  not  new  to  him, 
some  of  those  visionary  rhapsodies  on  the 
dead  Orient  that  have  become  classic 
splendors,  and  he  read  them  over  and  over 
in  the  silence  of  the  sunlit  garden,  thrilling, 
each  time  he  did  so,  with  the  sentiment  of 
mystery  that  they  evoked. 


36  JEAN  BEENT,  SAILOR 

It  was  an  evening  of  the  long-gone  ages.  The 
golden  domes  of  Benares,  at  news  of  the  death  of 
the  Star  Sourya,  phoenix  of  the  world,  wept 
tears  of  precious  stones 

Words  had  a  strange  faculty  of  soothing 
and  charming  him.  Simple  allocutions 
like  "  once  upon  a  time  "  or  "  it  came  to  pass 
that  in  the  days  of — "  that  constitute  such 
an  important  portion  of  the  story-teller's 
mental  equipment,  would  produce  in  him  a 
melancholy  intoxication,  like  the  faint  per- 
fume of  a  sarcophagus. 

Egypt,  Egypt !  the  dung  of  birds  defiles  the 
shoulders  of  thy  great  unchanging  gods,  and  the 
wind  of  the  desert  bears  on  its  wings  the  ashes  of 
thy  dead 

And  so,  in  that  patrimonial  domain,  under 
the  oranges  that  the  fading  sunlight  touched 
with  gold,  among  the  chrysanthemums  and 
purple  asters  and  all  the  rank,  uncared-for 
growths  that  chill  autumn  had  breathed 
on  with  its  withering  breath,  he  thought  of 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  37 

those  seaports  of  the  Levantine  islands  on 
which  he  was  soon  to  set  his  eyes,  and  of 
E^ypt  and  its  deserts  of  yellow  sand,  and 
of  millennial  India. 


VI 

THEIR  last  Sunday  evening  dinner  was 
eaten  in  silence ;  it  consisted  of  the  same 
traditional  dishes,  served,  according  to  im- 
memorial usage,  by  old  Miette,  who  said 
not  a  word,  for  her  heart,  too,  was  heavy, 
and  tears  were  ready  to  fall. 

All  through  the  repast  Jean  was  beset 
by  the  haunting  memory  of  a  certain  Easter 
dinner  that  had  formed  a  sort  of  epoch  in 
his  boyhood's  life,  and,  when  looked  back 
on  afterward  across  the  intervening  years, 
appeared  to  him  surrounded  by  a  mysteri- 
ous aureole  of  glory.  There  were  the  little 
brown  felt  hat  and  the  newly  assumed 
man's  attire ;  the  softly  transparent  light 
and  all  the  signs  of  early  spring,  seen 
through  the  open  window  ;  from  all  things 
there  exhaled  an  impression  of  freshness, 

38 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  39 

of  newness,  of  the  cool,  rosy  dawn  of  open- 
ing life.  Now,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
was  an  undefined  presentiment,  inexpres- 
sibly sad,  of  swiftly  approaching  end  and 
darkness  coming  down,  joined  to  the  phys- 
ical sensation  of  winter  caused  by  the 
increasing  cold  and  the  earlier  shutting  in 
of  night. 

When  he  had  finished  his  dessert  of 
grapes,  and  rose  to  go  for  his  customary 
evening  walk  about  the  town,  spiritlessly, 
however,  and  as  if  asrainst  his  will,  his 

f  O  / 

grandfather  said  to  him :  "  Remain,  my 
child,  if  you  please ;  we  have  something 
we  wish  to  say  to  you." 

A  darkling  look  rose  swiftly  to  his  face ; 
he  remained  standing,  with  head  lowered, 
ready  with  his  defense,  fearing  there  was  to 
be  an  attempt  to  make  him  renounce  the 
sailor's  calling,  a  final  attack  of  argument 
and  entreaty — with  a  design,  perhaps,  to 
induce  him  to  enter  the  service  of  his  uncle, 
the  perfumer. 

But  the  grandfather  went  on  in  a  slow, 


40  JEAN  BERN?,  SAILOR 

sad  voice  of  resignation,  speaking  of  things 
he  had  not  thought  to  hear,  and  that  fell, 
one  by  one,  heavy  as  drops  of  lead,  upon 
his  heart : 

"  My  child,  you  are  approaching  man's 
estate,  and  I  have  thought  it  fitting  that  I 
should  render  my  account,  in  order  that 
you  may  know  that  from  this  time  you 
have  no  one  to  depend  on  but  yourself. 

"My  child — your  mother  and  I  have 
nothing,  almost  nothing  left. 

"  We  thought  it  our  duty  to  keep  you 
at  college  with  the  Marists,  and  to  that 
end  borrowed  considerable  sums  of 
money — which  are  unfortunately  secured 
by  a  mortgage  on  our  old  country  place  of 
Carigou.  As  long  as  I  live  and  draw  my 
pension,  the  amount  of  which  is  known  to 
you,  we  shall  be  able,  perhaps — thanks  to 
the  untiring  economy  of  your  mother  and 
this  good  girl — we  shall  be  able,  perhaps, 
to  keep  our  dear  house — to  which  you  are 
as  deeply  attached  as  we.  But  after  that, 
what  then  ? "  His  voice,  which  broke  con- 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  41 

tinually,  had  in  it  the  feeble  quaver  of 
great  age,  which  Jean  had  never  remarked 
before  and  which  it  gave  him  inexpressi- 
ble pain  to  hear.  And  when  he  had  con- 
cluded his  final  sentence  :  "  God  grant,  my 
son,  God  in  his  mercy  grant  that  I  may 
live  to  see  the  day  when  you  shall  be  able 
to  earn  your  living — and  your  mother's. 
For  the  thought  of  seeing  her  compelled 
to  work  hurts  me,  you  see,  hurts  me  horri- 
bly  "  when  he  had  concluded,  convulsive 

movements  agitated  his  shoulders  beneath 
the  thin-worn  cloth  of  his  poor  shabby 
Sunday  coat,  and  his  eyes,  that  had  beheld 
the  light  for  eighty  years,  twitched  with 
distress  in  a  way  that  was  most  pitiful. 

He  had  already  suspected  something  of 
the  poor  old  grandfather's  sacrifices  and 
self-humiliation,  had  divined  the  increasing 
penury  at  home,  where  nevertheless  such 
decent  order  was  maintained.  But  that, 
no.  It  was  too  much ;  it  exceeded  the 
limits  of  all  he  had  ever  considered  possi- 
ble ;  to  be  destitute  of  everything,  the  old 


42  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

place  and  the  town  house  sold  to  strangers 
—and  his  mother  working  to  gain  her 
daily  bread ! 

Gradually,  while  his  aged  relative  con- 
tinued to  talk  on  in  his  feeble,  trembling 
voice,  these  bitter  truths  impressed  them- 
selves upon  his  mind,  so  often  empty  and 
thoughtless,  and  fixed  themselves  there 
indelibly  as  if  seared  on  it  with  a  red-hot 
iron.  Then  he  threw  himself  upon  their 
bosoms,  weeping  hot  tears,  as  children 
weep,  possessed  by  an  overmastering  yearn- 
ing to  embrace  and  console  those  dear 
ones — and  also  to  ask  them  for  protection, 
for  their  protection  and  their  counsel  in 
the  presence  of  disaster. 

But  his  mother  shed  no  tear ;  she  held 
him  clasped  to  her  bosom,  forgetful  of  all 
beside  for  the  time  being,  and  desiring 
nothing  save  that  she  might  be  allowed  to 
hold  him  thus.  The  misapprehension,  the 
icy  barrier  that  for  the  last  two  months 
had  kept  than  asunder,  had  ceased  to 
exist,  and  all  the  rest  was  as  nothing  in 


JEAN  BERNY.  SAILOR  43 

comparison  with  this  unspeakable  delight 
of  finding  her  boy  once  more,  and  forgiv- 
ing, and  knowing  she  still  had  his  love. 

Besides,  more  plebeian  than  her  father, 
doubtless  by  reason  of  tendencies  inherited 
from  some  forgotten  progenitor  who  lived 
in  times  long-past,  she  felt  herself  now  the 
braver,  the  calmer  and  more  resolute  of 
the  two,  when  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  probability  of  ruin  ;  if  it  became  nec- 
essary to  work,  why,  then  she  would  work ; 
she  would  leave  the  country,  that  was  all 
there  was  about  it,  and  follow  her  Jean 
wherever  his  duty  might  call  him ;  sailor 
or  officer,  it  was  all  the  same ;  he  would 
still  be  her  Jean,  her  stay,  her  prop,  her 
life  and  only  joy,  and  when  she  held  him 
pressed  to  her  bosom  the  world  had  noth- 
ing to  offer  her  that  she  desired. 


VII 

AFTER  the  conversation  of  that  evening 
a  more  cheerful  feeling  and  somewhat  of 
hope  prevailed  in  the  little  house.  After 
all,  regard  being  had  to  the  impossibility 
of  persuading  him  to  take  up  other  studies, 
his  plan  for  the  future  was  about  as  good 
as  any  that  could  be  devised,  and  the  years 
before  the  mast  would  slip  away  and 
quickly  be  forgotten. 

His  calculation  was :  In  two  years  I  shall 
be  an  able  seaman,  and  three  years  after 
that  I  can  apply  for  a  certificate  empower- 
ing me  to  command  a  merchantman ;  in 
five  years  I  shall  be  earning  a  good  living 
and  in  a  position  to  assist  mother  and 
grandfather;  we  shall  all  be  happy  once 
more  and  the  dark  days  will  be  forgotten. 
He  formed  many  good  resolutions  for  his 
future  guidance,  he  would  work  hard  and 
44 


JEAN  BEBNT,  SAILOR  45 

be  very  prudent,  and  his  thoughtless 
gayety  came  back  to  him,  his  boyishness 
and  jovial  laugh. 

He  never  left  the  house,  however,  except 
in  their  company.  On  those  evenings,  the 
last  they  were  to  be  together,  the  three  of 
them  would  go  out  to  take  the  air,  decently 
dressed  in  their  best  attire,  as  if  by  their 
appearance  to  assert  their  dignity  in  the 
eyes  of  those  whom  they  encountered ; 
the  old  grandfather,  carrying  himself  very 
erect,  neat  as  a  pin  with  his  carefully 
brushed  coat  and  immaculate  neck  cloth, 
Jean  in  his  handsome  English  suit  that  he 
was  soon  to  wear  no  more,  faultlessly 
gloved  and  having  his  mother  on  his  arm, 
the  picture  of  a  methodical,  staid  young 
man. 


.     VIII 

AMONG  the  mists  and  fogs  of  early 
November  the  little  brig  was  bounding 
over  the  billows,  careening  before  the 
freshening  breeze.  A  low,  monotonous, 
humming  sound  accompanied  her — like  the 
rustling  of  silk,  or  very  soft  tissue  paper 
crumpled  in  the  hand — less  a  sound  than  a 
manifestation  of  silence  peculiar  to  the 
time  and  place. 

Antibes  was  vanishing  in  the  distance, 
showing  like  a  small  speck  of  yellow  that 
momentarily  grew  less  and  less  at  the  base 
of  the  overhanging  snow-clad  Alps,  which, 
on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  tower  larger 
and  more  confusedly  against  the  back- 
ground of  leaden  sky. 

Jean,  a  sailor  two  hours  old,  in  heavy 
boots  and  thick  pea-jacket,  was  doing  his 

46 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  47 

best  to  maintain  Ms  equilibrium  on  the 
brig's  sloping  deck,  his  eyes  big  with 
wonder  at  the  novelty  of  it  all.  It  was 
subject  of  uneasiness  to  him  to  be  thus  soli- 
tary among  strangers,  on  those  few  frail 
planks  that  seemed  endowed  with  life  and 
were  flying  from  the  world  of.  his  acquaint- 
ance; he  was  awed  by  the  melancholy 
waste  of  immensity  that  surrounded  him 
on  every  hand,  and  became  with  each  suc- 
ceeding moment  more  grand  and  somber. 

The  others  of  the  crew  were  there  as 
well,  watching  like  him,  but  with  emotions 
of  a  different  and  lower  order,  the  receding 
land,  where  their  stay  had  been  longer 
than  usual  and  the  restraints  and  enforced 
sobriety  of  sea  life  had  been  relaxed. 
These,  Jean's  new  companions,  were  six  in 
number:  a  Maltese,  black  as  an  Arab, 
ragged,  exposing  his  bare  chest  to  the 
keen  evening  breeze ;  a  brace  of  sturdy 
rascals  from  Provence ;  a  roaming  vagabond 
of  Bordeaux ;  and  a  deserter  from  the  navy, 
who  was  careful  how  he  showed  his  face 


48  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

in  French  seaports.  All,  together  with 
their  sea  togs,  had  assumed  the  look  of 
endurance  and  impassiveness  that  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  sailor. 

While  they  were  hanging  about  the  deck 
inactive  the  captain  made  his  appearance 
aft,  a  stern,  grave  man  of  colossal  pro- 
portions, whose  hair  was  beginning  to  be 
tinged  with  gray,  with  dull,  lifeless  eyes 
void  of  all  speculation.  He  gave  a  com- 
mand in  a  hoarse  voice,  couched  in  lan- 
guage that  was  so  much  Greek  to  Jean, 
and  as  the  young  man,  novice-like,  not 
knowing  what  to  do,  smiled  and  seemed  to 
take  the  matter  as  a  joke,  he  soon  heard 
himself  recalled  •  to  duty  in  stern,  harsh 
language.  He  looked  at  his  coiniriander 
and  the  smile  disappeared  from  his  face; 
he  did  not  see  how  there  could  be  such  a 
difference  as  existed  between  this  man  and 
the  one  who,  only  a  short  while  before, 
had  received  him  at  Antibes  with  such  a 
politely  deferential  tone,  when  he  came  on 
board,  accompanied  by  his  handsomely 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  49 

dressed  mother  and  stately  old  grand- 
father. 

A  feeling  of  discouragement  rose  to  our 
sailor-boy's  mind  at  the  reflection  that  he 
was  the  inferior,  or  at  best  only  the  equal, 
of  those  beino-s  with  whom  his  lot  was 

O 

cast,  and  that  henceforth  he  was  to  render 
blind  obedience  to  the  mandates  of  his 
captain.  He  was  oppressed  by  a  horrible 
sensation  of  abasement;  at  a  single  blow, 
there  in  the  gathering  night,  he  felt  the 
galling  yoke  of  servitude  riveted  about 
his  neck. 


IX 

DAYS  succeeded,  each  like  the  other, 
toilsome  and  joyless,  days  of  which  no 
one  could  tell  the  name,  forming  weeks 
and  months  that  no  one  took  the  pains  to 
count:  a  time  that  seemed  long  in  the 
present,  but  in  the  retrospect  appeared 
very  brief. 

For  days  they  would  sail  over  solitary 
seas,  then  would  put  in  at  some  unfre- 
quented port  in  Corsica  or  Italy.  The  jars 
of  Vallauris  had  been  shipped  merely  with 
a  view  to  blinding  the  authorities  and  were 
landed  at  Leghorn ;  there  were  nocturnal 

O  ' 

departures  and  mysterious  maneuvers  as 
to  which  no  one  dared  to  ask  questions. 
They  were  as  clay  in  the  hands  of  the 
potter,  and  yielded  mute  obedience  to  the 
man  who  controlled  their  destinies. 

In  these  furtive  stoppages,  which  were 
50 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  51 

for  the  most  part  made  off  lonely  beaches, 
where  there  were  no  wharves  or  other  facili- 
ties for  landing,  the  crew  were  compelled 
to  do  the  work  of  common  laborers ;  bare- 
footed through  the  briny  water,  over  the 
deep  sand  and  jagged  rocks,  they  had  to 
carry  heavy  burdens,  sacks  and  bales  of 
which  the  contents  were  unknown  to  them. 
But  Jean,  because  there  was  no  one  to  see 
him  in  those  wild  retreats,  accomplished  his 
task  with  no  sense  of  humiliation ;  he  felt, 
moreover,  that  this  occupation,  like  all 
rough  and  dangerous  callings  that  carry 
little  profit  with  them,  had  a  certain  aspect 
of  nobility  and  grandeur.  And  then,  too, 
this  active  physical  exercise  which  fatigues 
and  fortifies  the  body  while  quieting  the 
mind  suited  him.  At  evening  only,  when 
niorht  was  closing-  in,  out  on  the  broad  ocean 

O  O  ' 

or  in  some  sequestered  bay,  did  memories 
of  the  past  return  to  sadden  him. 

Through  all  sorts  of  weather  the  stout 
little  smuggler  craft,  old  already  and  bear- 
ing many  a  scar,  tore  onward  in  spite  of  all ; 


52 

thrashing  through  the  boisterous,  ugly  seas, 
scourged  by  the  icy  mistral  that  stung  the 
men's  faces  like  a  needle.  "  She  is  my  only 
dependence,"  the  captain  once  said  in  his 
raucous  voice,  "and  I  have  five  children 
at  home.  She  has  got  to  go  or  else  go 
under ! "  It  was  for  Jean's  benefit  that  this 
explanatory  statement — the  only  one  that 
was  ever  heard  to  issue  from  his  mouth- 
was  made ;-  he  was  beginning  to  manifest  a 
sort  of  interest  and  friendly  inclination  for 
his  new  hand,  of  which  the  latter  was  proud. 
Owing  to  the  uncertainty  that  attended 
their  movements,  it  was  only  at  remote 
intervals  that  he  received  letters  from 
Antibes;  the  same  envelope  always  en- 
closed the  handwriting  of  the  two  beings 
dearest  to  him  on  earth — his  mother's  and 
that  of  the  old  grandsire,  constantly  more 
tremulous  in  his  declining  years.  He  had 
a  box  in  which  he  kept  them,  as  if  they 
had  been  holy  relics,  in  the  securest  corner 
of  his  clamp  little  locker.  They  constituted 
his  sole  treasure  on  the  vessel,  where  he 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  53 

lived  in  the  same  squalor  and  privation  as 
the  meanest  of  the  crew. 

Sometimes  it  chanced  that  a  day  of  re- 
pose was  granted  them ;  they  had  to  kill 
time  as  best  they  could  in  some  dreary, 
lifeless  village  or  unfrequented  bay.  On 
such  occasions  Jean,  before  going  ashore, 
would  always  put  on  his  best  clothes, 
which  no  longer  fitted  him,  being  too  small 
for  his  increasing  proportions,  and  had  lost 
their  original  freshness  of  color  owing  to 
being  laid  away  so  long  in  the  dampness. 
He  would  have  no  one  with  him  in  his 
strolls,  and  for  a  few  brief  hours  would 
once  more  be  the  boy  of  other  days,  loi- 
tering in  the  old  garden  at  Carigou,  dream- 
ing long  dreams,  and  giving  his  fancy  leave 
to  roam  unchecked.  He  would  walk 
straight  ahead  without  definite  aim  or  ob- 
ject, meditatively  observing  strange  things 
and  places  in  his  dreamy  way,  exchanging 
a  look  or  smile  with  the  girls  he  met, 
blondes  or  brunettes,  as  might  be,  now  and 
then  inaugurating  a  passing  flirtation, 


54  JEANBERNY,  SAILOR 

which,  in  those  localities,  came  to  nothing, 
but  served  to  trouble  his  peace  of  mind. 
He  preferred  the  toils  and  perils  of  the 
deep  to  those  days  of  idleness  and  reflec- 
tion, which  only  brought  his  future  too 
distinctly  before  his  eyes.  Distractions  of 
this  kind  were  very  brief,  however,  and  very 
rare ;  and  then  they  were  so  quickly  for- 
gotten and  dismissed,  barely  leaving  behind 
them  in  his  memory  a  portrait  of  the  young 
girl,  which,  for  a  few  evenings,  would  re- 
turn just  as  slumber  was  descending. 

But  for  these  infrequent  respites  his 
home  was  on  the  sea,  the  sea  always  and 
in  spite  of  all,  be  the  weather  what  it 
might,  buffeting  the  white-fringed  waves, 
struggling  against  the  icy  mistral. 


X 

THUS  passed  the  winter. 

A  period  of  delight,  almost  of  enchant- 
ment, was  the  visit  they  paid  in  May  to  the 
Isle  of  Rhodes. 

Just  at  the  close  of  the  wintry  season, 
which  was  longer  and  more  severe  that 
year  than  usual,  their  poor  little  craft,  that 
seemed  no  less  than  her  crew  to  be  in  need 
of  refreshment  and  repose,  put  into  the 
port  of  Khancljiotas.  The  change  in  lati- 
tude, their  descent  toward  the  sunny  South, 
which  is  in  itself  a  sovereign  distraction  to 
men's  minds,  was  coincident  with  the  sud- 
den coming  of  the  spring,  the  springtime 
of  the  Orient.  Jean  could  not  remain  un- 
affected by  the  magic  of  that  Levant  for 
which  he  had  so  longed,  of  which  he  had 
dreamed  so  fondly  in  his  distant  home, 
beneath  the  orange  trees  of  the  old  garden 

55 


56  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

at  Antibes,  and  which  now  presented  itself 
to  his  eyes  in  all  its  tranquil  and  desolate 
splendor. 

Their  repairs  would  necessitate  a  stay  at 
the  island  of  a  month ;  a  sufficient  time 
almost  to  become  acclimated — and  also  to 
fall  in  love. 

The  first  day  was  devoted  to  airing  the 
hold  and  emptying  the  moldy  lockers  of 
their  contents;  articles  of  apparel  were 
hung  to  dry  in  the  rigging,  exposed  to  the 
warm  breeze,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  little 
vessel  itself  shared  the  general  joy  at  being 
there,  and  was  glad  to  have  a  chance  to 
rest  and  bask  in  the  bright  sunshine. 

Oh,  the  exquisite  charm  of  that  first 
evening,  so  limpidly  tranquil,  redolent 
of  strange  odors!  Jean's  duties  did  not 
permit  him  to  leave  the  vessel,  but  no 
sooner  was  his  day's  work  ended  than  he 
leaped  ashore  and  seated  himself,  almost 
in  a  recumbent  posture,  on  the  ruinous 
quay,  that  was  soon  to  become  such  a 
familiar  object  to  him.  In  the  attire  of  the 


JEAN  BEENT,  SAILOR  57 

humble  calling  he  had  adopted,  he  real- 
ized, with  a  voluptuous  pleasure,  tinged 
with  unutterable  melancholy,  the  fruition 
of  his  dream  of  childhood  ;  he  contemplated 
the  sky  ablaze  with  golden  light,  and  the 
city  whose  dead  slumberousness  was  veiled 
in  an  atmosphere  of  gold  ;  the  Orient  was 
revealed  to  him,  more  Oriental  and  more 
alien  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of,  in  the 
ensemble  of  things,  and  in  their  thousand 
details — and,  more  than  in  all  besides,  in 
the  great  forbidding  walls  that  formed  an 
impenetrable  barrier  to  the  human  life  and 
activity  within. 

And  while  he  was  reclining  there  alone 
a  young  girl  appeared — she  was  a  Greek  or 
Syrian,  therefore  unveiled — who  was  to 
him  the  embodiment  of  all  that  Orient. 
She  wras  very  young,  with  heavy,  intensely 
black  eyes,  and  her  henna-stained  hair  was 
of  an  unnatural,  fiery  red.  She  advanced 
with  a  hesitating  step,  then,  perceiving  the 
reclining  sailor,  crossed  over  toward  the 
vessel  and  walked  along  the  row  of  flag- 


58  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

stones  that  formed  the  coping  of  the  quay 
to  obtain  a  nearer  view.  Her  long  eyes, 
black  as  blackest  night  and  half -closed 
between  their  fringe  of  dark  lashes,  half- 
concealed  by  the  red  locks  that  straggled 
from  beneath  her  spangled  head-dress,  shot 
inquisitive  glances  at  Jean's  blue,  wide-open 
eyes  and  black  hair.  She  smiled  and  went 
her  way,  slowly  as  she  had  come,  with  an 
undulating  motion  of  the  hips  that  was  in 
harmony  with  her  supple  form. 


XI 

SHE  came  every  evening  now  at  the 
beautiful  golden  twilight  hour,  and  all  the 
long  day  Jean  thought  of  nothing  but  her 
coming.  His  day's  work  done,  quick,  he 
plunged  into  the  clear,  cold  water,  dressed, 
adjusted  his  woolen  beret  becomingly  over 
his  close-cropped  hair,  and  then,  with  a 
lover's  eagerness,  jumped  from  the  deck 
to  the  stone  quay,  there  to  smoke  his  Turk- 
ish cigarette  and  wait  for  her  arrival ;  and 
suddenly  she  would  appear  above  him  in 
the  distance,  at  the  end  of  a  steep  path, 
where  the  old  frowning  walls  formed  an 
angle.  She  would  come  to  him,  making 
her  way  downward  from  the  old  quarter  of 
the  town,  casting  anxious  looks  behind  her 

'  O 

as  if  in  fear  of  being  followed ;   stepping 

59 


60  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

leisurely,  she  would  draw  near,  bold  in  her 
innocence,  ignorant  of  the  danger  that  lies 
in  loving. 

O 

Jean  would  not  stir,  but  wait  for  her  to 
conie  to  him.  With  a  smile  on  her  lips  she 
would  stop,  give  him  a  flower,  a  cluster  of 
orange  blossoms,  or  the  common  rose  of  the 
East  that  is  so  deliciously  fragrant ;  some- 
times she  would  address  him  a  few  words 
in  her  mongrel  French:  how  long  would 
he  remain  at  Khandjiotas  ?  Where  would 
he  go  next  ?  and  then  would  pass  on  with 
a  saucy  laugh  upon  her  face,  negativing 
with  vehement  gestures  of  indignation  or 
entreaty  any  attempt  of  his  to  follow 
her. 

He  was  never  his  own  master  until  night, 
and  as  the  town  was  Turkish,  it  was  a 
matter  of  course  that  as  soon  as  it  became 
dark  the  gates  were  shut  tight  and  fast. 
What  could  he  do  under  those  circum- 
stances ? 

Not  only  did  she  embody  for  him  the 
charm  of  the  country  that  so  deliciously 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  61 

disturbs   the   senses,  but   it   even  seemed 
as  if  those  fleeting  interviews    and   brief 

O 

smiles  were  symbolical  of  Jean's  future  life 
of   unrealized    aspirations    and  ephemeral 


XII 

Two  weeks  later  they  were  making 
appointments  to  meet  each  other  in  a  retired 
spot,  half  an  hour  after  her  appearance  on 
the  quay,  when  it  was  almost  night.  She 
allowed  him  to  steal  a  kiss  and  would 
return  it,  but  nothing  more,  and  would  run 
from  him  and  seek  shelter  behind  the  great 
gray  walls,  threatening  to  return  no  more. 
And  he,  knowing  it  to  be  impossible  to 
find  her  should  she  choose  to  hide,  and 
fearing  to  lose  her,  would  let  her  go.  "  If 
you  were  going  to  stay  here,"  said  she,  "  or 
if  you  even  expected  .to  return,  why, 
then—  But  he  could  give  her  no 

assurance  that  he  would  return ;  he  was  as 
ignorant  as  she  of  what  the  morrow  had  in 
store  for  him ;  poor  tyro  on  board  a  smug- 
gling craft,  penniless,  unable  to  call  his  soul 
his  own,  what  plans  could  he  make  for  the 

62 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  63 

future  ?  He  was  entirely  at  the  mercy  of 
the  dark  and  mysterious  man  who  was  in 
command,  and  could  say  or  promise  nothing. 
That  being  the  case  he  had  perforce  to 
remain  satisfied  with  whatever  favors  his 
red-haired  girl  chose  to  grant  him. 


XIII 

JUNE  came  in  with  all  its  dazzling 
splendor,  and  the  day  of  departure  from 
the  island  was  close  at  hand.  Three,  per- 
haps four,  more  of  their  stolen  meetings, 
then  all  would  be  ended  between  them, 
doubtless  forever.  While  reflecting  on 
their  parting  and  telling  himself  that  the 
joy  of  conquest  would  remain  forever 
incomplete,  he  felt  within  him  that  unfath- 
omable sensation  of  sadness  that  is  con- 
nected in  some  inscrutable  manner  with 
things  purely  physical.  And  the  Orient,  of 
which  that  girl  stood  as  the  personification 
to  his  imagination,  cast  its  immense  poetic 
glamour  on  his  fleshly  regrets. 

But  there  came  a  letter  from  Antibes, 
silencing  his  regrets  and  changing  every- 
thing. 

64 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  65 

The  handwriting  was  his  mother's,  hers 
alone.  The  dear  old  grandfather  was  veiy 
ill,  she  said.  And  from  her  manner  of  ex- 
pressing herself,  as  if  to  prepare  him  for  the 
worst,  he  saw  that  the  case  was  very  seri- 
ous— a  very  different  matter  and  more  irre- 
mediable, doubtless,  than  the  departure  from 
Rhodes.  Then,  as  the  memory  of  the  poor 
old  man,  in  his  white  neckcloth  and  black 
frock  coat,  rose  to  his  mind,  his  heart  grew 
very  heavy ;  more  poignantly  than  ever  he 
reproached  himself  with  all  the  suffering  he 
had  caused  him,  the  bitter  disappointment 
that  he  had  inflicted  on  him  at  the  time  he 
went  away.  And  he  thought  with  affright 
of  the  long  distance  that  lay  between  them, 
of  the  time  it  would  take  him  to  return  by 
sail,  of  the  intentions  of  the  close-mouthed 
captain,  who  would  likely  wish  to  break 
the  voyage  at  intervening  ports.  It  filled 
him  with  anguish  and  despair  to  be  so 
utterly  insignificant  and  helpless,  to  be 
without  money  to  make  his  way  home  by 
the  swift  mail  route,  to  be  powerless  to 


66  JEANBERNT,  SAILOR 

hasten  his  return  to  him  who  perhaps  was 
doomed  to  die. 

And  that  Orient,  that  had  so  charmed  him, 
now  suddenly  appeared  to  him  as  a  deathly 
sarcophagus  of  gold,  in  which  he  was  impri- 
soned and  of  which  he  could  not  raise  the  lid. 
She  was  indifferent  to  him  now,  he  almost 
hated  her,  the  handsome  girl  who  came 
down  to  him  at  eventide  from  the  old 
walled  city,  and  the  kisses  that  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  withhold  were  joy- 
less, bitter  to  the  taste,  and  troubled  by 
remorse. 

Until  then  the  possibility  that  he  might 
sometime  lose  his  grandfather  had  never 
occurred  to  him,  as  is  commonly  the  case 
with  children  who  have  never  seen  Death 
strike  down  without  warning  those  near 
and  dear  to  them ;  seeing  him  always  active 
and  erect,  always  the  same,  and  having  all 
his  life  known  him  as  he  was  then,  Jean 
had  not  reflected  that  he  was  a  very  old 
man.  His  existence  appeared  to  him  as 
something  stable  and  immovable,  which  he 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  67 

considered  in  much  the  same  light  that  he 
did  their  house  at  Antibes,  as  a  nest  that 
was  wholly  his  and  could  jaever  be  taken 
from  him. 


.  XIV 

HE  arrived  at  Antibes  in  the  subsequent 
month  of  July,  having  received  no  further 
advices  in  the  intervening  time.  The  taci- 
turn captain,  who  was  well  disposed  toward 
him,  allowed  him  to  go  ashore  immediately, 
without  detaining  him  to  assist  in  the  labors 
necessitated  by  their  arrival  in  port.  And 
in  the  same  suit  that  he  had  worn  when  he 
went  away,  neatly  brushed,  but  yellow  now 
with  age  and  much  too  small  for  him,  he 
made  his  way  through  the  city  of  his  birth 
with  a  humility  that  was  new  to  him,  turn- 
ing to  look  at  no  one,  unmindful  of  his 
faded  garments  and  appearance  nearly  indi- 
cative of  poverty. 

Antibes  lay  silent  in  the  fierce,  blinding 
sunshine.  Quick,  quick,  Jean  hastened  to 

68 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  69 

the  house  with  all  the  speed  he  was  capable 
of,  feeling  his  legs  giving  way  beneath  him 
in  his  impatient  anxiety,  trembling  as  he 
had  never  trembled  before  on  coming  home. 

The  door  of  the  house  was  ajar,  and  just 
within  it  was  the  screen  of  muslin  that  in 
hot  countries  is  universally  used  to  keep 
out  the  flies.  Miette,  standing  there  in  the 
cool,  dark  corridor,  said  to  him :  "  Ah, 
Monsieur  Jean  !  "  in  a  tone  that  chilled  his 
blood,  that  suddenly  brought  to  his  memory 
the  tone  in  which  she  had  addressed  him 
on  the  day  when  he  failed  in  his  examina- 
tion for  the  Naval  School. 

"  Grandfather  ? "  he  asked  in  a  low,  be- 
seeching voice,  as  if  he  had  lost  ten  years 
of  his  life — were  a  child  almost.  "  Where 
is  grandfather  ? " 

The  groan  that  answered  his  question 
told  him  all.  His  mother  had  heard  him 
and  came  down  from  the  room  above ;  they 
met  on  the  stairs,  and  for  a  long  time 
remained  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  and 
she  wept  in  silence,  saying  nothing,  because 


70  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

she  saw  that  he  had  encountered  Miette 
and  knew  all. 

With  a  buzzing  in  his  head  as  of  one 
who  has  sustained  a  great  shock,  he  ascended 
with  his  mother  to  their  little  first  floor 
drawing-room.  A  shabby-looking  man  was 
there,  dressed  in  a  shiny  black  frock  coat, 
and  on  the  table  were  displayed  some  silver, 
forks  and  spoons,  arranged  in  pairs. 

"  Veiy  well,  then ;  take  them  at  your 
price,  monsieur,"  said  the  mother,  impatient, 
now  her  boy  was  there,  to  conclude  the 
business  she  had  begun. 

Then,  while  the  two  stood  looking  on  in 
silence  with  unutterable  regret  depicted  on 
their  faces,  the  man  placed  a  roll  of  bank- 
notes on  the  table  and  pocketed  the  forks 
and  spoons,  their  family  silver,  marked 
with  the  graudsire's  monogram,  that  had 
done  service  at  their  dinners  in  the  old 
bygone  days. 

And  as  soon  as  he  had  left  the  room  she 
caught  her  son  by  the  hands  : 

"  Yes,  my  poor  child,  I  had  to  sell  those 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  VI 

things,  and  all  beside  will  have  to  go— 
all,  all — the  house  and  garden,  everything, 
all  that  we  possess !  His  pension  helped 
me  to  live — but  now  that  he  is  gone — I 
can  no  more !  "  She  spoke  a  little  discon- 
nectedly, like  one  whose  wits  were  wander- 
ing, her  mind  apparently  not  fixed  on  the 
terrible  things  she  was  saying,  which 
nevertheless  had  caused  her  long  hours  of 
agonized  despair — for  she  was  distracted 
by  Jean's  presence,  by  the  joy  of  having 
him  at  her  side,  of  contemplating  him, 
admiring  him,  so  handsome,  so  tall  and 
strong. 

He  cast  himself  into  his  mother's  arms 
and  rested  his  cheek  upon  her  shoulder,  as 
if  to  seek  comfort  there  and  protection 
against  the  calamity  that  threatened  to 
overwhelm  and  crush  them. 


XV 

THE  three  succeeding  months  were  a 
period  of  deepest  misery  and  distress  to 
them,  pervaded  by  a  horrible  sensation  of 
suspense ;  one  of  those  periods  during 
which  one  can  apply  himself  to  nothing, 
has  courage  to  undertake  nothing — what 
availed  it  even  to  keep  in  order  the  poor 
dear  house  that  was  soon  to  be  taken  from 
them— 

Lawyers  and  men  of  business  were  com- 
ing and  going  constantly.  She  had  tried, 
reluctantly  and  with  a  sense  of  humilia- 
tion, to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  other 
Bernys  and  prevail  on  them  to  help  her  a 
little  and  save  her  the  necessity  of  parting 
with  the  home  of  her  fathers.  But  the 
rich  cousins  declared  it  would  be  no  less 
than  madness,  that  it  would  only  be  bring- 
ing more  complete  ruin  down  upon  her 
73 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  73 

head,  that  it  would  be  best  to  sell,  put  her 
affairs  in  shape,  and  get  the  matter  ended. 
And  she  sold. 

When  the  irrevocable  step  was  decided 
on  the  days  seemed  to  fly  by  with  greater 
swiftness,  as  in  those  evil  dreams  where 
time  has  no  duration. 

And  the  evening  of  the  day  that  wit- 
nessed the  signing  of  the  deed,  when  they 
were  seated  together  before  the  family 
board,  the  dinner,  served  as  ever  by  old 
Miette,  was  to  them  as  a  funeral  repast, 
their  evening  as  one  devoted  to  watching 
by  the  bedside  of  a  corpse. 

Her  plans  were  fully  decided  on :  since 
Jean,  whose  eighteenth  year  was  now  at 
hand,  must  seek  employment  in  his  voca- 
tion, and  as  she  herself  must  toil,  must 
lead  the  life  of  a  workingwoman,  then  the 
further  from  Antibes  they  were  the  better 
it  would  be;  they  would  put  the  whole 
width  of  France  between  them  and  their 
old  home ;  she  would  go  and  settle  with 
him  in  some  one  of  the  northern  seaport 


H  JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR 

towns.  Toulon  was  too  near;  she  had 
acquaintances  there,  and  then,  too,  Jean 
would  have  to  spend  at  least  a  year  at 
Brest,  on  board  the  naval  training  ship. 
At  Brest,  therefore,  they  would  go  and 
live,  where  their  poverty  would  escape 
invidious  comment. 

It  was  in  October  that  the  new  owner 
gave  them  a  week  to  remove  their  belong- 
ings from  the  house  and  prepare  for  their 
departure.  As  soon  as  they  were  gone 
workmen  were  to  come  in  and  tear  up 
everything,  replacing  old  with  new;  noth- 
ing of  all  that  the  departing  exiles  had 
loved  so  well  was  fine  enough  for  these 
fastidious  successors.  So  they  applied 
themselves  to  selecting  those  poor  things 
that  they  were  most  attached  to ;  but  when 
it  came  to  choosing,  behold !  they  were 
attached  to  everything ;  no  object  was  so 
valueless  that  they  did  not  feel  a  pang  at 
leaving  it  behind.  And  still  they  must  be 
content  to  carry  away  so  little  ! 

Jean  helped  his  mother,  relieving  her  of 


JEAN  BERNY,   SAILOR  75 

the  more  laborious  work  and  making  pack- 
ing cases  for  the  goods  that  were  to  be 
forwarded  by  the  freight  train.  Each  morn- 
ing he  would  awake  in  the  little  chamber 
of  his  boyhood  and  say  to  himself  in  bit- 
terness of  spirit :  "  Yet  another  day  nearer 
to  that  when  I  shall  look  on  this  for  the 
last  time ! "  And  the  house  was  being 
gradually  emptied  of  its  contents — the 
house  that  they  no  longer  took  pains 
to  sweep  and  set  in  order,  that  was  littered 
with  the  straw  of  the  packing  cases.  The 
wonted  aspect  of  the  place  was  destroyed 
beyond  the  possibility  of  recognition. 

He  packed  away  with  loving  care  a 
thousand  small  objects  that  reminded  him 
of  his  boyish  days ;  in  particular,  the  copy- 
books that  he  had  used  at  college,  and  in 
which  he  had  jotted  down  his  dreams  of 
travel  and  adventure;  they  would  be  of 
use  to  him,  too,  later  on,  when  he  came  to 
study  up  for  his  examination  as  master  of 
a  vessel. 

The   only  time   each   day   he  left   the 


76  JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR 

house  was  when  he  went  to  stroll  for  a 
little  about  the  old  place  of  Carigou,  the 
key  of  which  had  been  left  in  their  keep- 
ing, in  the  well-loved  garden,  now  over- 
grown with  weeds,  that  was  assuming  the 
air  of  a  neglected  graveyard.  It  was  the 
same  season  of  the  year,  the  tranquil  days 
were  luminous  with  the  same  mellow  sun- 
light, as  when  he  visited  the  spot  the  pre- 
ceding autumn,  alone,  as  he  was  to-day,  to 
indulge  in  reveries,  no  less  sad  than  those 
of  the  present  moment,  of  departure  for 
the  isles  of  the  Levant.  And  he  plucked 
the  leaves  of  certain  shrubs,  the  flowers  of 
certain  rose  trees,  that  he  might  press  them 
and  carry  them  with  him  in  memory  of  the 
spot  he  loved  so  well. 


XVI 

"  JEAN  !  "  Mme.  Berny  called  to  her  son 
in  a  sad  regretful  voice,  interrupting  her 
occupation  of  emptying  a  closet  of  its  con- 
tents ;  "  Jean,  come  here  !  Do  you  remem- 
ber this  ? "  and  she  held  up  before  his  eyes 
a  little  shirt  of  fine  cambric. 

He  did  not  remember  at  first,  it  was  so 
remote;  but  suddenly,  oh,  yes!  the  gar- 
ment he  had  worn  at  the  Fete-Dieu  ! 

She  had  felt  a  desire  to  take  one  last 
look  at  it  in  his  presence  before  putting  it 
aside  with  the  things  that  were  to  be 
destroyed  or  sold,  but  Jean  insisted  they 
should  take  it  with  them,  and  it  was 
deposited,  carefully  wrapped  and  folded, 
in  one  of  the  trunks  that  were  to  accom- 
pany them  to  their  land  of  exile. 

"  And  this  ?  "  said  she,  displaying  a  little 

77 


78  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

brown  hat,  with  long  velvet  ribbons 
depending  from  it. 

Then '  mournful  memories  of  the  past 
came  streaming  back  upon  his  mind,  and  he 
recalled  a  certain  Easter  Sunday  and  the 
dinner  he  partook  of  on  that  bright  day  of 
spring,  seated  beside  the  old  grandfather, 
now  dead  and  gone ;  and  from  his  heart  of 
hearts  there  rose  a  feeling  of  infinite  melan- 
choly, a  melancholy  more  inexplicable  and 
cheerless  in  its  mysterious  essence  than 
any  that  this  leave-taking  had  caused  him 
yet. 

Oh,  no ;  he  could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  parting  with  that  little  hat ;  it  was  de- 
cided that  it  should  make  the  journey  to 
Brest  in  company  with  the  little  cambric 
shirt  which  occupied  so  small  a  space. 

The  grandsire's  frock  coat,  his  silver- 
headed  cane,  and  various  other  things  that 
had  been  his,  were  also  to  go.  For  people 
as  poor  as  they,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
they  encumbered  themselves  with  a  great 
deal  of  useless  luggage. 


XVII 

THE  last  day !  And  a  day  so  bright  and 
clear,  so  joyful  in  its  sunny  splendor,  as  if 
to  inspire  in  them  a  keener  regret  for  what 
they  were  about  to  leave  behind,  an  incom- 
parable day  in  early  November. 

They  were  to  start  that  evening  at  a  late 
hour  and  travel  by  a  night  train. 

Jean  had  a  multitude  of  things  to  attend 

\D 

to  yet,  and  his  packing  was  incomplete ;  he 
made  haste  to  finish  his  work,  that  he  might 
have  an  hour  before  the  sun  went  down  to 
revisit  his  garden  of  Carigou,  and  indulge 
in  reverie  there. 

It  was  a  moderately  long  walk  from  the 
city  to  the  garden.  When  he  unlocked 
the  gate  and  entered  there,  night  was  close 
at  hand :  the  horizontal  rays  of  the  dying 
luminary,  red  as  the  light  of  a  great 
conflagration,  were  striking  through  the 

o  /  o  o 

79 


80  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR. 

branches  and  gilding  the  trunks  of  the  old 
impassive  trees.  The  melancholy  of  each 
of  the  endings  that  were  so  close  at 
hand  impressed  itself  on  him  and  sank 
into  his  soul ;  the  ending  day,  the  ending 
autumn,  and  that  other  ending,  more  poign- 
ant than  all,  their  final  departure  from 
their  home. 

Attachment  to  places,  to  trees,  to  walls, 
is  with  some  of  us,  particularly  in  early 
youth,  extremely  powerful ;  it  may  be  that 
in  imagining  we  experience  feelings  of  love 
and  regret  for  those  inanimate  things,  we 
are  only  lamenting  the  vanishment  of  that 
which  existed  within  our  own  being,  and 
which  shone  in  them  by  a  reflected  light. 
It  seemed  to  Jean  that  that  sale  to  strangers, 
that  taking  from  him  of  objects  that  were 
his,  could  never  despoil  him  of  his  right  of 
possession  to  those  things,  which  he  looked 
on  as  being  endowed  almost  with  faculties 
of  reason  and  reflection ;  they  would  always 
be  his  property,  not  the  property  of  those 
who  had  bought  them.  And  who  can  tell 


JEAN  BERNY,   SAILOR  81 

if,  before  the  commencement  of  his  ter- 
restrial existence,  others,  strangers,  had  not 
left  a  portion  of  their  spiritual  being  in 
those  same  places,  and  experienced  illusions 
like  his  own— 

The  light  that  had  been  casting  rings 
and  bands  of  gold  on  the  venerable  tree 
trunks  suddenly  faded  and  went  out,  and 
the  silence  of  the  garden  seemed  to  become 
deeper  and  more  intense ;  the  sun  had  set, 
and  with  the  approach  of  night  a  chill 
breeze  arose. 

It  was  time  to  return.  Jean  cast  a  look 
about  him  on  the  grass-grown  walks,  as  if 
to  say  farewell  to  them,  and  turned  to  go. 
Very  slowly,  with  many  a  backward, 
lingering  look,  he  closed  and  locked  the 
antique  postern  with  an  impression  of  never- 
more, of  absolute  and  eternal  nevermore. 

Then  came  their  dinner,  when  neither  of 
them  ate ;  a  fragmentary  dinner  of  odds 
and  ends,  served  by  the  weeping  Miette, 
and  lighted  by  a  solitary  candle  placed  in 
the  centre  of  the  table. 


82  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

The  evening^  passed  heavily  while  wait- 
ing for  the  final  moment.  Everything  was 
ready  ;  there  was  nothing  left  for  them  to 
do ;  they  were  alone  together  in  the  chill 
solitude  of  the  naked  drawing-room,  that 
had  been  stripped  forever  of  the  old  famil- 
iar objects  that  they  loved.  In  silence 
they  awaited  the  coming  of  the  carriage 
that  was  to  bear  them  away,  as  one  con- 
demned to  die  on  the  scaffold  awaits  the 
cart. 

Jean,  bearing  a  candle  in  his  hand,  would 

/  O  ' 

from  time  to  time  leave  the  room  to  go 
over  the  house  once  more,  to  take  a  last 
look  at  his  little  chamber.  He  might  not 
even  console  himself,  boy  like,  with  the 
promise  that  he  would  buy  all  back  again 
at  some  future  day,  for  those  new-comers, 
scorning  the  humble  'home  that  his  mother 
had  tended  with  such  loving  care,  were  to 
begin  their  work  of  destruction  on  the  mor- 
row. 

About  ten  o'clock  there  was  a  sound  of 
wheels  in  the  street,  a  dull,  menacing  rum- 


JEAN  BEBNT,   SAILOR          •  83 

ble  at  first,  in  the  distance,  on  the  stones. 
Jean  was  the  first  to  hear  it.  When  they 
were  apprized  of  what  it  was,  that  an  omni- 
bus from  the  station  had  halted  before 
their  door,  it  was  as  if  Death  had  touched 
them  with  his  icy  finger,  and  instinctively 
mother  and  son  threw  themselves  into 
each  other's  arms. 

They  descended  the  stairs ;  from  the  cor- 
ridor below  Miette's  sobs  came  to  their 
ears.  Behind  them  the  doors,  with  their 
familiar  creaking,  heard  so  oft  that  they 
had  come  to  love  the  sound,  now  to  be 
heard  no  more  forever,  closed  with  a  clang, 
as  definitively,  as  irrevocably  as  the  cover 
of  a  sepulchre. 


XVIII 

AT  Brest,  to  which  they  came  in  the 
early  morning,  by  the  raw,  pale  light  of 
breaking  day,  they  were  chilled  and  trans- 
fixed— poor  fugitives  from  a  land  of  sun- 
shine— by  the  change  of  climate  that  mani- 
fested itself  in  everything,  in  •  the  wintry 
weather,  in  the  gray,  lifeless  atmosphere 
that  pervaded  the  place. 

They  caused  themselves  to  be  directed 
to  a  small  hotel  of  the  second  class,  dis- 
playing the  timid,  retiring  manner  of  those 
who  wish  to  limit  their  expenditure  and 
look  closely  to  their  small  change.  The 
young  man  allowed  himself  to  be  guided 
and  controlled  in  everything  as  if  he  were 
once  more  a  little  child,  without  will  of  his 
own,  passively  obedient,  with  a  bitter  grief 
constantly  present  in  his  heart.  He  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  slightly  interested  at 

84 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  85 

times,  however,  by  all  the  strange  sights 
that  this  sombre  city  of  gray  granite  had 
to  show  him,  with  its  massive  ramparts,  its 
hardy  maritime  population  and  its  cloudy 
sky  ;  he  often  turned  in  the  streets  to  have 
a  look  at  the  bluejackets,  of  whose  frater- 
nity he  was  soon  to  be  a  member,  half 
charmed,  half  frightened  sometimes,  by  this 
peep  into  the  unknown  of  the  life  that  lay 
before  him. 

They  were  some  days  before  they  found 
a  dwelling  place  that  came  near  suiting 
them.  Everything  that  was  shown  them, 
witliiii  their  narrow  means,  was  so  squalid 
and  repulsive. 

She  found  less  difficulty  than  he  in 
bringing  her  mind  down  to  the  idea  of 
those  plebeian  surroundings,  that  were  des- 
tined to  be,  for  a  long  time,  if  not  forever, 
the  enframement  of  her  ruined  life.  Her 
spirit  of  rebellion  against  her  fate,  the 
objections  of  her  bourgeois  pride,  had  sensi- 
bly diminished ;  she  could  bow  to  her 


86  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

destiny  without  excessive  bitterness,  if  only 
the  pitiful  details  might  remain  unknown 
to  the  other  Bernys,  if  she  might  not  have 
to  drain  her  cup  of  humiliation  beneath 
their  eyes.  And  then  her  Jean,  who  was 
so  entirely  hers  once  more,  who  had  drawn 
so  close  to  her,  served  very  nearly  to  con- 
sole her  for  all,  to  compensate  for  all. 

But  he,  who  doubtless  had  inherited 
from  the  father's  side  a  greater  instinctive 
refinement,  he,  on  the  other  hand,  grew 
restive  under  poverty  that  was  patent  to 
the  world.  When  on  board  ship  his 
sailor  temperament  could  endure  without 
complaining  the  coarseness  of  his  associates 
and  the  privations  of  a  seaman's  life,  but 
on  land  he  experienced  an  unconquerable 
aversion  for  everything  that  was  repulsive 
or  smacked  too  much  of  vulgar  poverty ; 
it  wounded  him  cruelly  to  see  his  mother 
derogate  thus,  in  dress,  in  surroundings,  in 
habits  of  daily  life.  He  had  the  will  and 
the  hope  to  raise  her  from  her  present  con- 
dition at  some  future  day ;  he  would  not 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  87 

consider  their  then  way  of  living  other  than 
as  a  temporary  makeshift.  And  in  the 
receding  distance  of  the  irrevocable  past, 
that  they  had  so  lately  put  behind  them, 
fair  Provence  and  the  loved  home  down 
yonder  stood  prominently  out  before  his 
vision,  a  spot  of  brightness  in  the  midst  of 
murky  shadows,  as  if  illuminated  by  the 
level  rays  of  a  glorious  sunset. 

They  finally  decided — they  had  to  make 
up  their  mind  to  something,  for  the  hotel 
was  too  expensive — they  decided  on  an 
apartment  on  the  third  floor  of  a  house  in 
the  main  street,  not  far  from  the  harbor.  It 
was  a  gloomy  place,  opening  on  a  dark  and 
noisome  court.  There  was  a  single  window 
commanding  an  outlook  on  the  street ;  from 
it  they  had  a  view  of  the  by-passers  below, 
splashing  through  the  liquid  mud  in  their 
wooden  shoes,  and  on  Sundays  reeling  and 
staggering  ;  in  the  distance  a  portion  of  the 
Arsenal  was  visible,  and  a  corner  of  the 
sailors'  barracks  on  the  hill  of  Kecouv- 
rance ;  on  every  hand  were  tall  and  massive 


88  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

granite  structures,  of  a  deep  hue  of  gray, 
that  shone  and  glistened  in  the  rain. 

They  promised  themselves  that  they 
would  make  a  change  at  some  future  day, 
would  try  to  find  something  better  else- 
where. They  installed  themselves  at  first 
in  their  new  abode  as  if  not  intending  to 
remain  there  long,  and  complemented  as 
inexpensively  as  possible  what  little  furni- 
ture they  had  brought  with  them  from  Pro- 
vence, because  they  could  not  find  it  in 
their  heart  to  sell  it.  And  when  the  cases 
that  had  come  by  the  more  tardy  freight 
train  were  brought  upstairs  and  opened; 
when  the  dearly  prized  objects,  that  had 
made  the  journey  from  their  old  home, 
began  to  show  their  familiar  faces  in  the 
dull  gray  light  within  the  walls  of  the 
abode  of  exile,  Jean  and  his  mother,  not 
daring  to  look  each  other  in  the  face  lest 
they  might  be  unable  to  control  their  sobs, 
wept  silent  and  slowly  falling  tears,  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  very  bottom  of 
their  torn  and  bleeding  hearts. 


XIX 

Two  more  months  are  numbered  among 
the  past ;  it  is  midwinter  now.  It  is  Sun- 
day, the  day  when  the  barracks  are 
deserted  and  the  bluejackets,  abroad  in 
the  dim  gray  light  of  the  narrow  streets  of 
the  lower  town,  air  their  careless  merri- 
ment, their  bright  uniforms  gayly  trimmed 
with  red,  and  the  light  blue  of  their  wide 
turn-back  collars.  A  pale  sim  casts  its 
lio-ht  on  the  rain-washed  granite  walls, 

O  O  ? 

and,  as  is  often  the  case  in  January,  in  this 
quarter  of  Brittany  where  the  sea  takes 
the  land  in  its  arms  and  warms  it,  the 
weather  is  mild  and  pleasant. 

Mother  and  son  were  leaning  together 
from  the  window  that  looked  upon  the 
street,  the  window  that  was  the  one  single 
attractive  point  about  their  new  dwelling, 

89 


90  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

its  one  eye  that  enabled  it  to  see  what  was 
going  on  in  the  outside  world.  She,  very 
simply  dressed,  more  simply  than  Jean 
would  have  wished  her  to  be,  almost  a 
woman  of  the  people  in  her  deep  mourn- 
ing ;  he,  in  sailor  attire.  Already  quite 
accustomed  to  his  new  dress,  he  wore  with 
the  proper  degree  of  unstudied  negligence 
the  wide  collar  that  is  thrown  open  in  such 
a  way  as  to  display  the  bronzed  neck. 
There  was  some  slight  change  to  be  noted 
in  his  face ;  he  was  handsomer,  perhaps 
owing  to  the  silky  black  beard  that  he 
had  allowed  to  STOW  on  cheeks  and  chin 

O 

according  to  the  regulations  of  the  service ; 
but  the  eyes  were  the  same,  the  ardent  and 
dreamy  eyes  of  a  child. 

When  Jean  was  at  home  and  the  sun 
condescended  to  favor  them  with  a  little 
of  his  light,  they  often  sat  there  together 
by  that  window,  and  had  almost  begun  to 
look  on  it  with  eyes  of  friendship.  For 
little  by  little,  slowly,  very  slowly,  in  that 
different  and  lower  Sphere,  whither  they 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  91 

had  been  hurled  like  wreckage  after  a 
storm,  they  were  returning  to  life  after  the 
great  disaster,  the  sundering  of  ties,  whose 
effect  had  been  little  less  annihilating  to 
them  than  that  of  death  itself — he,  because 
he  was  so  very  young,  she,  the  mother, 
because  she  was  there  with  him.  And 
that  mean  abode,  that  they  had  first 
accepted  with  loathing  and  disgust,  lo ! 
habit  was  beginning  to  render  it  more 
attractive  in  their  sight,  and  for  the 
moment  they  had  abandoned  all  thought 
of  leaving  it.  She  had  accomplished  won- 
ders, moreover,  in  the  way  of  arrangement, 
purification  and  embellishment,  repairing 
with  her  own  hands  the  rents  in  the  tat- 
tered old  paper  on  the  walls,  putting  up  at 
the  windows  cheap  muslin  curtains  that 
gave  the  premises  a  bright  air  of  cheerful- 
ness. In  the  most  conspicuous  places  she 
had  put  the  few  ornaments  that  they  had 
brought  from  Antibes,  the  candelabra,  the 
vases  that  had  decorated  the  mantelshelf 
in  the  drawing-room  down  yonder,  and 


92  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

other  small  objects  that  were  endeared  to 
them  by  association. 

Safely  bestowed  in  the  depths  of  a  great 
clothes  press  were  the  more  sacred  of  their 
relics.  There  reposed  the  coat  that  the 
grandfather  had  worn  last,  his  spectacles 
and  silver-headed  cane,  with  some  volumes 
of  his  favorite  authors,  and  note  books  filled 
with  memoranda  in  his  tremulous  old  man's 
handwriting.  Close  beside  them,  on  the 
same  shelf,  were  certain  small  articles  of 
apparel,  priceless  souvenirs  of  Jean's  child- 
hood :  the  shirt  in  which  he  had  imper- 
sonated an  angel  at  the  Fete-Dieu,  and,  in  a 
pasteboard  box,  carefully  wrapped  in  green 
gauze,  the  memorable  little  brown  felt  hat 
of  that  long-past  Easter  Sunday. 

He  himself,  formerly  so  inexpert  and 
helpless  in  matters  of  household  detail, 
was  untiring  in  his  care  for  this  poor  little 
kingdom  where  mother  and  son  held  sway, 
moving  furniture  about,  driving  nails,  and 
taking  off  his  jacket  to  scrub  the  floor,  an 
operation  that  reminded  him  of  holy-stoning 


JEAN  BERNY,   SAILOR  93 

the  deck  on  shipboard.  His  roving  instincts 
slumbered  for  the  time ;  remorse  had  dulled 
and  blunted  them.  It  would  have  seemed 
to  him  the  depth  of  baseness  to  do  any- 
thing that  might  add  to  his  mother's  dis- 
tress ;  he  was  swayed  by  his  affection  and 
sentiment  of  tender  compassion ;  with  the 
sensation  of  being  his  own  master,  since  he 
was  a  sailor,  he  was  of  his  own  free  will 
submissive  and  obedient — and  that  was  the 
only  possible  way  in  which  he  could  be 
so — and  his  self-imposed  servitude  even 
came  to  be  easy  and  pleasant  to  him.  At 
evening  he  came  straight  home  from  the 
barracks,  devoting  all  his  hours  of  liberty 
to  his  mother,  never  goinoj  for  a  stroll 

/  O  O 

unless  accompanied  by  her,  and  on  such 
occasions  giving  her  his  arm  with  a  charm- 
ing air  of  sedateness  that  she  had  never 
known  in  him  before. 


XX 

IT  is  the  summer  season  of  the  succeed- 
ing year. 

They  entertained  a  friendlier  feeling  for 
their  humble  quarters  now  that  they  had 
spent  eighteen  months  together  in  them. 
Still,  however,  the  old  wound  did  not  heal ; 
their  banishment  was  hard  to  bear,  and 
regret  for  the  dear  paternal  home  was  no 
less  poignant  than  ever.  The  memory  of 
Provence  constantly  grew  fainter  and  more 
indistinct,  but  in  the  same  measure  it  was 
crowned  with  a  bright  aureole  of  golden 
hue,  like  a  vanished  Eden.  The  most 
worthless  object  among  their  household 
goods  that  came  from  home  was  a  sacred 
thing  apart,  not  to  be  touched  save  in  a 
spirit  of  awed  respect,  and  that  never  failed 
to  excite  feelings  of  sudden  melancholy,  to 

94 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  95 

induce  a  quicker  and  more  painful  throb- 
bing of  the  heart. 

Jean  had  just  finished  his  time  on  board 
the  Bretagne,  a  large  sailing  vessel,  an- 
chored in  the  roadstead,  where  the  fog 
always  lay  thick,  that  did  duty  as  a  school- 
ship.  The  simple  and  wholesome  life  that 
the  young  men  lead,  constantly  exposed  to 
the  damp,  salt-laden  breezes,  to  the  strong 
west  winds  that  fill  the  lungs  with  oxygen, 
is  a  Spartan  regimen,  and  acts  differently 
on  different  constitutions,  eliminating  the 
weak  and  strengthening  the  strong. 

Jean's  natural  vigor  and  robustness  had 
increased  considerably  under  these  con- 
ditions. He  was  a  good  sailor,  moreover, 
attentive  to  his  duties,  alert  and  energetic, 
and  at  the  same  time  obedient  and  chary  of 
his  words.  His  innate  independence  did 
not  rebel  against  the  iron  strictness  of  the 
discipline ;  he,  who  was  so  quick  to  resent 
individual  interference,  accepted  this  par- 
ticular yoke,  which  is  not  hard  to  bear  for 
the  very  reason  that  it  is  impersonal  and 


96  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

uniform,  and  frequently  ends  in  reclaiming 
the  most  untamable  and  refractory  natures. 

Always  punctual  at  drill,  never  mistaking 
one  rope  for  another  in  the  complicated 
tangle  of  the  rigging,  never  shirking  his 
duty,  he  had  every  quality  of  the  perfect 
seaman.  In  addition  to  his  other  merits  he 
had  speedily  acquired  the  spirit  of  dandy- 
ism that  is  characteristic  of  the  service : 
the  jaunty  manner  of  wearing  the  uniform, 
the  correct  angle  at  which  to  sport  the  red- 
tasseled  flat  cap,  which  is  kept  in  shape  by 
a  hoop  of  whalebone,  the  unvaryingly 
immaculate  whiteness  of  the  coarse  duck 
jacket  and  trousers. 

But  by  no  consideration  could  he  ever  pre- 
vail on  himself  to  take  up  any  kind  of  intel- 
lectual labor,  for  the  greater  his  physical 
activity,  the  less  disposed  he  was  to  mental 
application.  An  acquired  roughness  of 
manner  and  lack  of  sociability  overlaid 
without  extinguishing  the  germs  of  art  and 
poetry  that  were  originally  inherent  in  him, 
and  which,  developed  by  the  education  of 


JEAN  RERNY,  SAILOR  97 

Ms  earlier  years,  were  at  present  indestruc- 
tible. Without  losing  his  native  air  of  dis- 
tinction, he  was  constantly  becoming  more 
and  more  a  sailor,  in  looks,  language  and 
manners,  a  twofold  character  that  has 
nothing  inconsistent  in  it,  however.  It  is 
a  privilege  accorded  the  seafaring  man 
that  he  may  in  many  instances  display  the 
most  astonishing  freedom  in  language  and 
behavior,  and  yet  never  be  trivial  or  vulgar, 
never  proletarian. 

So  therefore,  under  these  changed  ex- 
ternal conditions,  he  still  remained  one 
whom  mention  of  the  immemorial  Orient  or 
a  mystical,  sonorous  phrase  would  suffice 
to  plunge  into  depths  of  reverie,  into  an 
unfathomable  gulf  of  melancholy.  A  boy 
withal,  always  and  ever  a  great  boy,  in  his 
careless  disregard  of  the  future,  even  in  his 
pleasures,  associating  with  the  youngest 
and  most  artless  of  his  comrades,  and  going 
now  and  then  to  laugh  in  company  with 
them  at  the  wildest,  most  extravagant  and 
fantastic  spectacles.  He  furthermore  still 


98  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

continued  to  be  that  one  who,  in  the  old 
days  at  Antibes,  had  befriended  the  old 
beggars  in  the  street,  and  saved  little 
kittens  from  premature  death  by  drowning 
in  the  gutter;  reserving  his  kindness  and 
pity  for  the  more  humble  among  his  ship- 
mates and  those  from  whom  fortune  with- 
held her  smiles. 

At  intervals,  as  inclination  prompted,  he 
abandoned  himself  nowadays  to  his  old 
propensity  for  adventures  of  the  street, 
which  had  lain  dormant  for  a  long  time 
after  their  arrival  at  Brest.  On  leaving 
the  barracks  of  a  fine  evening  he  would 
allow  himself  to  be  diverted  from  his 
homeward  road  by  the  pretty  muslin  coif 
of  some  gentle  Breton  maiden,  or  by  the 
gay  feathers  of  some  bonnet  encountered 
on  the  highway,  and  would  afterward  ex- 
culpate himself  to  his  anxiously  waiting 
mother  by  a  wonderful  story  manufactured 
out  of  whole  cloth,  lying  in  such  cases  with 
no  more  compunction  than  a  child,  for  the 
sake  of  saving  her  pain.  And  if  he  was 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  99 

detected  and  convicted  of  his  deceitful 
intentions,  he  would  lower  his  laughing 
eyes  with  the  manner  of  a  schoolboy  caught 
red-handed  in  some  peccadillo,  who  has  no 
remorse  and  will  do  the  same  thing  again 
as  soon  as  the  teacher's  back  is  turned.  In 
all  other  respects,  however,  he  manifested 
such  respect  and  tender  devotion  for  his 
mother  that  the  poor  lady  was  compara- 
tively happy  in  her  altered  circumstances. 

In  their  modest  way  of  living,  too,  a 
little  ease  and  comfort  were  beginning  to 
return  to  the  forlorn  little  household. 
When  the  affairs  in  Provence  came  to  be 
finally  settled  up,  the  widow  found  that 
she  had  left  a  small  capital  sufficient  to 
produce  an  annual  income  of  seven  or  eight 
hundred  francs,  and  after  bravely  serving 
her  apprenticeship,  she  was  now  working 
at  embroidering  the  ornaments  and  insignia 
of  gold  that  are  worn  by  naval  officers. 

She  dressed  with  extreme  simplicity, 
almost  like  a  working  woman,  in  spite  of 
all  Jean  could  do  or  say,  who  worried  a 


100  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

good  deal  over  his  mother's  gowns  and 
thought  they  could  never  be  too  fine ;  it 
pained  him  to  see  her  go  out  upon  the 
street  wearing  a  little  black  worsted  shawl, 
and  it  was  his  constant  dream  that  some 
day  he  would  restore  her  to  her  former 
position  in  life.  The  neighbors,  the  other 
tenants  of  the  immense  granite  barrack 
where  they  lived,  and  of  which  the  walls 
were  always  dripping  with  moisture,  had 
been  made  to  keep  their  distance  during 
the  first  few  months,  then  gradually  closer 
relations  had  developed.  They  said : 
"They  are  people  who  have  seen  better 
days,"  and  being  good-hearted  women  at 
bottom,  they  did  not  harbor  malice  toward 
the  strangers  for  their  coolness  on  first 
acquaintance. 

With  the  family  in  Provence  a  few  let- 
ters had  been  exchanged  at  first  at  rare  and 
increasing  intervals.  But  the  answers  to 
their  missives  came  more  and  more  tardily, 
and  when  they  came  were  more  and  more 
insolently  patronizing  toward  this  ruined 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  101 

widow  and  her  son  the  bluejacket,  and  so 
they  allowed  their  relations  with  Antibes 
to  fall  into  a  state  of  desuetude — until  that 
day,  the  object  of  their  dreams,  when  Jean, 
wearing  a  captain's  uniform,  should  present 
himself  once  more  with  head  erect  in  his 
native  land,  and  bring  his  mother  to  her 
own  again.  And  now  that  poor  old 
Miette,  in  her  unwillingness  to  serve 
other  masters,  had  gone  away  to  die,  up  in 
her  village  among  the  mountains,  they  had 
the  distinct  impression  that  they  two  were 
alone  in  the  world,  that  they  were  two 
lonely  outcasts,  whom  no  one  acknowl- 
edged, and  who  had  ceased  to  be  of  account 

O          ' 

to  anyone. 

For  whom,  then,  should  she  trouble  her- 
self to  maintain  the  dress  and  appearance 
of  a  lady?  There  were  moments  of  dis- 
couragement when  she  was  tempted  to  give 
up  and  let  everything  go  by  the  board,  and 
when  her  Jean,  with  a  pride  greater  than 
hers,  reasoned  with  her  kindly,  "Well, 
what  can  you  expect  from  a  sailor's  moth- 


102  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

er ! "  she  would  answer  in  a  tone  bordering 
on  bitterness,  which  recalled  the  misunder- 
standings and  harsh  words  of  days  gone  by, 
but  the  effect  of  which  she  would  make 
haste  to  temper  with  a  kiss  and  an  affec- 
tionate smile. 


XXI 

THEIR  second  year  at  Brest  was  drawing 
to  an  end. 

On  an  evening  when  the  weather  was 

~ 

more  than  usually  fine  mother  and  son 
were  seated  at  their  window — that  is  to 
say,  at  the  single  window  of  their  mean 
and  contracted  dining-room,  which  was  the 
only  one  that  looked  upon  the  street.  It 
Avas  there,  whenever  the  west  wind  did  not 
blow  too  hard,  that  their  pleasantest  mo- 
ments were  spent,  in  restful  idleness  and 
conversation.  The  thickness  of  the  wall, 
substantial  as  a  city's  rampart,  afforded  a 
wide  comfortable  place  on  which  to  rest 
their  elbows,  and  they  had  furnished  it 
with  a  cushion  covered  with  red  cloth,  as 
the  usage  of  the  quarter  demanded  should 
be  done  for  the  windows  of  every  apart- 

103 


104  JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR 

inent  that  laid  any  claim  at   all  to   gen- 
tility. 

What  they  beheld  from  there  had  not 
the  attraction  of  strangeness  or  unfamiliar- 
ity ;  there  were  certain  persons  who  came 
and  went  regularly  every  day  at  the  same 
hour  that  they  looked  on  as  old  acquaint- 
ances, so  well  had  they  come  to  know  their 
faces  and  general  aspect ;  some  afforded 
Jean  food  for  merriment,  and  he  would 
counterfeit  the  voice  of  a  little  child  and 
say  something  like  this :  "  Wait  for  me, 
mother  dear ;  the  young  lady  with  the 
parrot's  nose  has  not  gone  by  yet,  and  you 
know  I  can't  come  to  the  table  until  she 
does."  Beneath  them,  slightly  raised  above 
the  level  of  the  sidewalk,  was  an  ancient 
terrace  of  granite  on  which  w^as  a  tiny  gar- 
den with  a  border  of  box ;  twice  already 
they  had  beheld  in  it  the  growth  and  blos- 
soming of  the  same  flowers,  fuchsias  and 
geraniums,  and  a  few  sickly,  stunted  roses ; 
of  those  luxuriant  southern  vines  that 
brighten  up  old  walls  so  cheerfully  there 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  105 

was  no  trace,  but  growing  from  the  crevices 
between  the  stones  were  plants  that  had 
never  been  set  out  there :  mosses,  ferns 
and  the  homely  pink  foxglove,  friends  and 
parasites  of  the  cold  Breton  granite.  And 
some  portion  of  themselves  had  already 
passed  into  this  entourage  and  remained 
there ;  what  they  loved  was  not  the  local- 
ity, but  their  own  anterior  existence,  that 
had  taken  possession  of  the  locality,  and,  so 
to  speak,  impregnated  it — and  particularly 
their  anterior  state  of  mutual  love  and  ten- 
derness, destined  to  perish  and  be  forgot- 
ten. 

Among  the  self-imposed  deceptions  of 
life  is  the  hold  that  we  allow  inanimate 
objects  to  take  on  us — a  hold  almost  as 
tenacious  as  that  of  living  beings,  although 
the  latter,  it  is  true,  are  shorter  lived  than 
the  former.  Our  attachment  to  localities, 
to  relics,  as  well  as  to  memories  and  tradi- 
tions, is  really  but  a  more  cultivated  form, 
a  form  adapted  to  our  more  highly  devel- 
oped intelligence,  of  the  universal  senti- 


106  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

ment  of  self-preservation.  Dumb  animals, 
when  death  appears  imminent  to  them, 
simply  avoid  it  by  flight,  or  defend  them- 
selves as  well  as  they  can  with  the  means 
that  nature  has  provided  them  with,  but 
against  time,  which  is  constantly  destroy- 
ing them,  they  have  no  resource.  We,  who 
are  molded  from  the  same  clay  and  will 
doubtless  return  to  the  same  dust,  endeavor 
to  defend  ourselves  by  lofty  dreams,  by 
hopes  of  futurity,  and  by  sublime  prayers 
and  invocations ;  or  otherwise,  by  love  of 
our  childhood's  home,  of  a  house  long 
inhabited  by  our  ancestors,  by  the  affection 
and  respect  we  bestow  on  the  poor  little 
objects  of  every  sort  that  are  connected  in 
any  way  with  our  irrevocable  past.  The 
attachment  to  things  and  places,  that  has 
its  source  in  the  fear  of  death,  is  the  most 
childish  of  all  human  cults,  reserve  being 
made  of  that  malignant  cult  of  disappointed 
incredulity,  to  which  we  return  after  having 
sounded  the  unfathomable  black  void  of 
wavering  belief. 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  107 

Jean  and  his  mother  had  been  wishing 
since  morning  for  fine  weather,  in  order  that 
they  might  pass  this  evening,  the  last  before 
their  parting,  together  at  their  window ;  he 
was  to  start  the  morrow  on  a  ten  months' 
cruise.  And  if  it  had  been  made  expressly 
to  their  order  it  could  not  have  been  more 
accordant  with  their  desire,  this  rare,  warm, 
limpid  twilight,  which  produced  in  them 
the  illusion  of  being  somewhere  else,  of 
being  far  away,  nearer  the  sunny  south. 
There  was  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring,  not 
a  cloud  to  be  seen  in  the  heavens,  and,  in- 
deed, the  beauty  of  the  evening  exceeded 
their  wishes ;  such  suimnerlike  resplendency 
added  to  their  melancholy  and  made  their 
parting  more  painful,  by  reminding  them 
of  their  loved  Provence,  where  evenings 
like  this  occur  so  frequently. 

The  Hesolue  was  to  leave  the  yard  the 
next  morning  on  her  annual  cruise  in  the 
waters  of  the  Atlantic,  and  Jean  was  to  be 
on  board  of  her.  He  had  arranged  all  his 
plans  for  the  future,  and  they  showed  a 


108  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

great  deal  of  judgment  and  good  sense ;  he 
would  return  the  following  summer,  wear- 

o 

ing  the  stripes  of  a  quartermaster,  then  he 
would  ship  without  delay  for  a  long  cruise 
that  would  bring  his  term  of  enlistment  to 
a  close  ;  he  would  be  very  economical,  and 
with  his  savings  on  his  return  would  take 
a  course  in  hydrography,  and  pass  the  exam- 
ination required  by  law  before  he  could 
command  a  merchant  ship. 

With  these  fine  schemes  in  his  head  it 
would  have  been  well  for  him  j;o  rub  up 
his  mathematics  a  bit.  The  text-books  he 
had  used  at  college,  together  with  his  notes 
of  the  professor's  lectures,  were  piled  on 
the  table  in  his  bedroom,  but  he  never  con- 
sulted them  except  to  open  them,  from  time 
to  time,  for  a  look  at  the  flowers  from  Cari- 
gou  that  were  drying  between  their  pages. 
By  natural  inclination,  and  by  reason  of 
his  excessive  fondness  for  physical  exercise, 
he  was  indolent  and  incapable  of  exertion 
where  intellectual  labor  was  concerned ; 
for  mathematical  studies  in  particular  he 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  109 

had  an  insuperable  aversion,  he  whose  com- 
prehension was  so  acute  in  matters  pertain- 
ing to  poetry  and  art. 

Night  was  closing  in,  slowly  and  reluc- 
tantly, replacing  the  beautiful  twilight.  In 
the  street  below  men  and  women,  coming 
in  from  their  evening  stroll,  were  beginning 
to  appear  against  the  darker  background 
of  wall  and  pavement  as  indistinct  dark 
masses,  dotted  here  and  there  by  the  white 
coifs  of  the  females.  And  by  degrees  this 
last  evening  stamped  itself  indelibly  on 
both  their  memories,  even  as  so  many  fugi- 
tive moments  of  our  lives  stamp  themselves 
there,  no  one  can  tell  why,  to  the  exclusion 
of  so  many  others.  It  occurred  to  Jean 
that  he  had  really  come  to  have  a  friendly 
feeling  for  that  corner  by  the  window ;  for 
the  various  sights  afforded  by  the  quarter ; 
for  that  terrace  garden  that  was  not  even 
part  of  his  hired  domicile,  and  for  those 
fragile  flowers  that  unknown  hands  had 
reared.  And  she,  the  mother,  now  let  fall 
her  head  upon  her  bosom,  seeing  nothing 


110  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

of  what  was  going  on  without,  her  rnind 
filled  with  anguish  there  in  the  gathering 
darkness  at  the  thought  of  ten  months  of 
weary  waiting,  of  the  long  winter  that  lay 
before  her,  so  desolate  and  lonely,  without 
her  boy. 


XXII 

the  broad  ocean.  Stretching  on 
every  hand,  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  the  in- 
finite expanse  of  deep  blue  sea.  .Above  the 
deck  the  towering  fabric  of  snow-white  sails 
and  brown,  tarry  ropes,  domain  of  Jean  and 
the  other  topmen ;  a  mechanism  of  won- 
drous organization,  a  thing  of  life  almost, 
where  every  motor  nerve  has  its  name,  its 
function  and  its  life ;  and,  circulating  among 
all  those  intricacies,  the  crew,  that  is  to  say, 
some  hundreds  of  men,  brought  together 
by  chance,  whose  names  have  suddenly 
been  converted  into  numbers  and  whose 
personalities  are  absorbed  in  the  duties 
they  have  to  perform.  In  the  case  of  those 
young  and  simple-minded  men,  who  lead  a 
life  of  isolation,  cut  off  from  the  world  and 
its  affairs,  the  individual  being  suffers 
annihilation  no  less  than  in  monastic  corn- 
ill 


112  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

nmnities ;  the  interest  they  manifest  in 
what  is  going  on  around  them  from  day  to 
day  is  limited  to  asking  one  another  if  the 
drill  went  oif  with  snap  and  animation,  if 
the  log  has  been  heaved  recently  and  what 
showing  did  it  make,  was  the  navigating 
officer  successful  in  getting  his  reckoning. 
In  the  orderly  arrangement  of  this  compli- 
cated whole  everyone  restricts  himself  to 
playing  the  special  and  unalterable  part 
that  is  assigned  to  him ;  he  is  the  generator 
of  the  physical  force  that  is  required  at 
such  a  given  point  at  such  a  given  moment, 
he  is  the  spring  of  flesh  and  blood  that 
serves  to  tighten  a  certain  rope  and  never 
any  other ;  his,  too,  is  the  hand  that  at  a 
fixed  moment  of  each  succeeding  day  pro- 
ceeds to  scour  this  hard  wood  pulley  or 
polish  that  iron  bolt;  he  accomplishes 
automatically  the  succession  of  duties  that 
others  before  him — strangers,  now  for- 
gotten, who  bore  the  same  number — accom- 
plished with  the  same  undeviating  regular- 
ity. And  in  this  entire  renunciation  of  all 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  113 

volition  and  freedom  of  action,  the  whole- 
some and  invigorating  life  they  lead 
hardens  the  muscles,  gives  them  their 
superficial  gayety  and  brings  the  ready 
laugh  to  their  lips,  and  makes  it  possible 
for  them  to  throw  themselves  down  any- 
where, no  matter  how  hard  the  plank,  no 
matter  what  the  hour  of  day  or  night,  and 
at  once  lose  themselves  in  slumber,  peace- 
ful as  a  little  child's,  soon  as  the  shrill  call 
of  the  boatswain's  whistle  has  ceased  to 
reverberate  in  their  ears. 

But  all  are  not  equally  insouciant  /  in 
those  who  are  naturally  inclined  to  reflec- 
tion, reverie,  beneath  this  superabundant 
material  life,  assumes  a  greater  intensity  in 
a  more  restricted  sphere.  In  some,  also, 
there  is,  so  to  speak,  a  twofold  development 
of  the  nature,  an  outer  and  an  inner  man. 
A  topman,  for  example,  all  whose  talk  is 
of  ropes  and  sails,  for  whom  life  seems  to 
have  no  object  outside  of  his  seaman's  call- 
ing, you  will  find  at  bottom  to  be  a  child- 
like beiuoj  whose  thoughts  are  centred  in 

O  O 


114  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

some  little  hamlet  of  the  Breton  coast,  in 
the  affections  and  small  interests  he  has 
left  there  behind  him  in  his  distant  home. 
And  those  things  alone  are  accounted  by 
him  as  having  any  importance ;  he  talks 
and  does  his  duty  on  board  ship  mechanic- 
ally, his  mind  far  away,  unobservant  of  the 
strange  countries  he  visits,  unmoved  by  the 
inconceivable  immensity  of  the  sea. 

In  the  tranquil  evening  hours  of  idleness, 
a  sailor  (No.  218,  we  will  suppose  him  to  be, 
foretop  starboard  yardarm)  becomes  once 
more  the  Pierre  or  Jean-Marie  of  his  earlier 
days,  and  goes  and  seats  himself  beside 
another  young  man  from  his  neighborhood, 
who  has  also  resumed  his  individuality  of 
other  times.  They  question  each  other, 
they  seek  in  their  dull,  groping  way  to 
penetrate  the  mystery  of  each  other's  soul, 
and  thus  a  sort  of  brotherhood  is  inaugur- 
ated between  those  who  have  embraced  a 
calling  so  full  of  danger  and  fatigue. 

Jean,  for  his  part,  spun  yarns  and  con- 
versed indifferently  with  all  hands  in  their 


JEAN  BURNT,  SAILOR  115 

own  language  and  manner,  a  thorough 
sailor  at  heart,  and  for  the  rest  sufficiently 
elevated  by  education  and  refinement  above 
the  remainder  of  the  ship's  company  to  be 
able  to  indulge  in  a  quiet,  good-natured 
laugh  now  and  then  at  their  artless  com- 
munications. 


XXIII 

EVEKY  day,  long  drills  and  exercises, 
unlimited  expenditure  of  muscular  force, 
the  sailors'  rude,  long-drawn  song  timing 
the  execution  of  the  movement,  the  shrill 
piping  of  the  boatswain's  whistle,  the  rattle 
of  ropes  running  througli  the  blocks,  the 
sound  of  laboring  chests,  of  muscles  con- 
tracting and  expanding  beneath  duck  jack- 
ets ;  all  the  noisy  labor  that  is  required  to 
animate  those  immense,  widespread  objects 
that  are  called  sails,  and  give  to  them  the 
lightness  and  power  that  reside  in  the 
pinions  of  feathered  things. 

But  at  eventide,  in  the  delicious  balmy 
weather,  the  hours  of  tranquillity  returned 
once  more,  the  watches  beneath  the  stars. 
After  the  sun  had  gone  down  in  glory  the 
men  collected  on  the  deck  to  idle,  spin 
yarns  and  sleep,  to  the  accompaniment  of 

116 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  117 

the  gentle  soothing  motion  of  the  vessel,  in 
the  pure,  clear  air.  Gathering  in  little 
social  groups  they  related  thrilling  tales  of 
adventure  or  sung  songs  until  sleep,  the 
great  restorer,  came  to  them. 

As  for  Jean,  in  the  beginning  those  were 
hours  of  darkness  and  gloom ;  all  in  vain 
was  it  that  he  stretched  himself  nonchalantly 
on  the  deck  like  the  others,  with  equal 
means  to  theirs  of  making  himself  comfort- 
able ;  he  felt  that  his  nature  was  more 
complex  than  theirs,  infinitely  more  com- 
plex. And  then  those  were  the  only 
moments  he  had  when  he  could  think  of 
the  future,  of  the  difficulties  that  lay  before 
him,  of  the  money  that  he  must  have  later 
on  to  pay  for  instruction  at  Brest,  of  the 
toil  and  study  he  would  have  to  undergo 
before  he  could  obtain  his  captain's  certifi- 
cate. 

No,  he  could  not  see  his  way  clear  as  to 
how  he  was  ever  to  pass  that  examination. 
He  felt  moreover  that  on  the  Resolue  the 
life  of  muscular  exertion  that  he  was  lead- 


118  JEAN  BEBNT,  SAILOR 

ing  was  taking  too  much  out  of  him,  that 
every  day  his  mind  was  becoming  more 
and  more  impenetrable  to  mathematical 
abstractions. 

The  poor  college  note-books,  that  he  had 
requested  his  mother  to  send  to  him  on 
ship-board  and  which  he  prized  as  if  they 
had  been  relics,  were  suffering  terribly  from 
abrasion  of  the  corners,  in  spite  of  all  his 
care,  in  the  clothes-bag  where  he  had 
stowed  them;  they  were  grown  yellow, 
and  the  ink  was  faint  and  pale  with  age. 
The  dark  tangle  of  mysterious  lines  and 
figures  between  their  covers  was  becoming 
less  and  less  intelligible  to  him,  an  unde- 
cipherable riddle,  a  treatise  on  occult 
arcana.  And  it  would  be  necessaiy  to 
learn  all  that  afresh,  and  astronomy  to 
boot !  When  he  had  time  and  came  to 
think  the  matter  over  in  the  calm  repose  of 
evening,  the  impossibilities  that  lay  in  his 
way  terrified  him ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  never  could  master  them,  that  to  try 
would  be  waste  of  time. 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  119 

Then  he  would  comfort  himself  with 
the  thought  that  lie  had  years  before  him, 
that  the  time  was  not  yet  come  for  him  to 
apply  himself  and  bother  his  brains  with 
work ;  and  he  would  bend  his  ear  to  listen 
to  the  great  children  who  were  chattering 
on  every  side  of  him,  and  laugh  at  their  art- 
less talk — and  a  smile  would  rise  to  his  lips, 
a  smile  and  oblivion.  Without  troubling 
himself  to  think  about  it,  he  was  gradually 
retrograding  and,  in  a  dangerous  and  per- 
haps definitive  way,  declining  upon  that  life 
of  the  sailor  that  he  had  in  the  first  place 
accepted  only  as  a  temporary  makeshift. 

On  days  of  rest,  however,  when  the 
others  applied  themselves  to  their  games 
and  sports,  or  visited  the  ship's  library  in 
quest  of  books  within  the  range  of  their 
intelligence,  Jean  also  often  read  books 
that  one  of  the  officers  loaned  him.  But 
for  a  common  foretopman  his  choice  of 
reading  was  singular.  He  renewed  his 
acquaintance  with  Akedysseril,  whose 
resounding  words  and  magniloquent 


120  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

phrases  had  been  ringing  in  his  head  for 
years;  he  encountered  Heriodade  and 
Salammbo,  who,  strangers  until  then, 
infused  the  glamour  of  their  melancholy 
into  the  vague  immensity  of  his  dreamy 
reverie. 


XXIV 

WITHIN  the  tropics,  on  a  wondrous 
evening  when  the  Southern  trades  were 
blowing  with  their  balmiest  softness, 
the  corporeal  portion  of  his  being  tired 
with  a  healthy  muscular  fatigue,  gently 
lulled  by  the  slumberous  rhythmic  motion 
of  the  ship,  as  a  little  child  is  rocked  to 
sleep  in  his  cradle,  Jean  was  half  sitting, 
half  lying  on  the  deck  in  the  mild  light  of 
the  new-born  stars,  in  the  midst  of  the 
gathering  swarm  of  white- jacketed  sailor 
lads,  who  were  coming  up  from  below,  one 
after  another,  and  forming  snug  little 
groups  preparatory  to  passing  the  pleasant 
hours  of  evening  in  one  another's  society. 
And  in  those  moments  of  calmness  and 
repose  that  precede  slumber  his  thoughts, 
as  usual,  assumed  a  more  sombre  cast  as 

*         121 


122  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

the  future  and  that  dreaded  examination 
rose  before  his  mind. 

Close  at  hand,  on  his  right,  were  his  two 
chosen  comrades,  Le  Marec,  quartermaster, 
and  Joal,  captain  of  the  rnizzen-top,  both 
hailing  from  the  Cotes-du-Nord,  surrounded 
at  that  moment  by  a  group  of  young 
pays — or  men  from  their  own  district — 
who  were  listening  reverentially  to  their 
conversation. 

On  his  left  was  a  little  congregation  of 
Basques,  a  race  apart,  who  every  now  and 
then  would  break  out  and  chatter  in  an 
unintelligible  jargon,  older  than  the  hills. 

A  little  further  away  another  group  was 
singing  in  chorus  a  lively  air  in  couplets, 
in  which  the  refrain :  "  Old  Neptune, 
Monarch  of  the  Sea  "  came  in  every  minute 
or  so  in  a  light,  catchy  way. 

Among  the  Bretons  a  blood-curdling, 
marrow-freezing  story  of  mystery  and  dark- 
ness was  going  on,  the  confused  beginning 
of  which  Jean  had  failed  to  catch.  The 
yarn  was  of  a  suspicious-looking  brig,  dere- 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  123 

lict  and  abandoned  by  her  crew,  that  had 
been  encountered  in  the  English  Channel 
in  the  twilight  at  the  close  of  a  dim 
winter's  day ;  a  ghostly  wanderer  on  the 
water  that  no  one  dared  board  for  fear  of 
encountering  dead  men  on  her. 

The  Basques  of  the  group  to  the  left 
were  listening  to  a  wild  tale  of  warlike 
adventure  beneath  the  blazing  sun  and  on 
the  burning  sands  of  Dahomey. 

The  two  stories,  equally  lurid  and  fan- 
tastic, reached  Jean's  ears  in  disconnected 
fragments,  and  were  mingled  and  blended 
in  his  brain,  over  which  sleep  was  begin- 
ning to  exert  its  confusing  influence,  while 
from  the  chorus  in  the  distance  came  thie 
persistently  reiterated  refrain  of  "  Old 
Neptune,"  running  thread-like  through  the 
whole  and  connecting  the  parts  by  a  sort  of 
obligato  accompaniment.  There  is  small 
opportunity  for  privacy  on  shipboard  of  a 
fine  evening,  when  the  crew  are  all  on 
deck. 

"Well,"  Le  Marec  was  saying — he  had 


124  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

been  a  fisherman  of  Brieuc  in  his  younger 
days — "  well,  at  last  we  conclude  to  board 
her  "  (it  was  of  that  grewsonie  derelict  that 
he  was  speaking).  "  It  was  none  too  light, 
for  the  weather  was  thick  and  the  night 
was  close  at  hand,  and  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
boys,  I  felt  pretty  shaky  about  that  time. 
All  the  same,  though,  I  raise  my  hands 
and  catch  onto  the  gunwale,  so  as  to  hoist 
myself  up  and  get  a  look  at  what  was 
inside — and  then,  my  friends,  what  think 
you  it  is  I  see?  A  huge  tall  form,  with 
black  face,  and  horns,  and  a  long  pointed 
beard,  that  springs  to  its  feet  and  makes  a 
rush  for  me— 

"It  was  the  Devil,  wasn't  it?"  asked 
Joal,  convinced  that  he  had  guessed 
aright. 

"  We  thought  it  was,  for  certain,  for 
a  while — but  no  ;  it  was  only  an  old  billy: 
goat !  but  such-  a  great,  big  fellow,  you 
can't  imagine.  I  don't  believe  anyone  ever 
saw  his  like." 

And  Turubeta,  a  Basque  from  Zitzarry, 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  125 

was  running  on  at  the  same  time,  in  a  voice, 
that,  compared  with  the  deep  tones  of  the 
honest  Bretons,  seemed  shrill  and  piercing 
as  a  fife. 

"  It  was  the  Amazon  who  had  informed 
on  the  poor  beggar  of  a  spy,  don't  you  see. 
Then  the  other  fellow,  the  big  black  man, 
catches  hold  of  him.  l  Come  along  to  the 
beach,'  he  says  to  him.  '  Come  along,  come 
along ;  I  am  going  to  chop  off  your 
head!'" 

"And  did  he  go  ?  "  inquired  the  skepti- 
cal Etcheverry — who  was  from  Biarritz, 
where  the  sailors  are  beginning  to  acquire 
more  modern  ideas. 

"  Did  he  go  ?  of  course  he  did  !  Because 
he  couldn't  help  himself,  don't  you  see; 
the  moment  he  was  caught  playing  the  spy 
he  knew  it  was  all  tip  with  him.  He 
didn't  feel  any  too  good  over  it,  all  the 
same,  as  you  may  suppose." 

And  the  Breton  continued  to  reel  off  his 
yarn  of  mystery  and  darkness  : 

"  The  billy-goat  was  the  only  living  soul 


126  JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR 

on  board  the  brig,  and  as  she  was  carrying 
a  cargo  "of  barley  in  bulk,  he  had  had 
plenty  to  eat.  If  I  were  tojtry  to  tell  you 
how  fat  he  was  you  wouldn't  believe 

me " 

"  So  he  goes  to  work  and  binds  the  dirty 
spy's  hands  behind  his  back,"  Turubeta 
continued,  "  that  way,  with  a  rope  of  straw, 
such  as  they  use  to  fasten  their  horses  with 
in  that  beastly  country,  and  makes  him  get 
down  on  his  knees  upon  the  sand,  and 
begins  to  hack  away  at  the  back  of  his 
neck  with  his  old  cheese-toaster.  But  now 
that  it  was  fairly  begun,  the  other  fellow 
didn't  want  any  more  of  it — oh,  boys,  you 
ought  to  have  heard  the  fuss  he  made! 
And  the  Amazon  grinned  and  showed  her 
white  teeth — see,  like  that, — to  show  how 
glad  she  was,  I  suppose.  Well,  you  may 
believe  me  or  not,  just  as  you  choose,  but 
his  regulation  sabre  was  so  dull  that  he 
could  not  do  the  job  with  it,  and  in  order 
to  finish  the  business  he  had  to  go  down 
into  his  pocket  and  bring  out  a  cheap  little 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  127 

knife  that  I  myself  had  given  him,  and  for 
which  I  paid  old  Mother  Virginie,  in  the 
bazaar  at  Goree,  ten  sous  when  it  was 


While  the  listeners  were  making  merry 
over  this  original  method  of  executing  a 
death  sentence  their  neighbors,  the  Bre- 
tons, were  brooding  reflectively  over  the 
history  of  the  abandoned  brig  and  the  black 
goat,  and  Jean,  who,  toward  the  conclusion 
of  the  two  narratives,  had  bent  his  ear  alter- 
nately to  left  and  right  to  listen,  smiled 
indulgently  at  the  childish  credulity  of  his 
shipmates;  the  sprightly  song  "Old  Nep- 
tune" also  inspired  him  with  some  of  its 
irresistible,  contagious  gayety.  He  had 
never  felt  himself  so  completely  and  thor- 
ou^hlv  a  sailor  as  he  did  that  evenino-. 

o        «/  O 

His  anxieties  for  the  future,  which  had 
been  growing  less  troublesome  with  each 
succeeding  day,  now  vanished  entirely  in 
the  sensation  of  well-being  and  repose  ex- 
perienced by  his  weary  body.  He  yielded 
himself  up  to  the  purely  animal  delight  of 


128  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

living  and  breathing,  on  that  pleasant  even 
ing,  of  feeling  his  muscles  so  hard  and 
supple  under  his  loosely  fitting  garments. 
He  stretched  himself  at  full  length  on  the 
snow-white  planks,  which  were  his  most 
frequent  bed,  and  made  a  pillow  of  the 
man  who  chanced  to  be  next  to  him,  a 
neighborly  courtesy  to  which  no  sailorman 
objects. 

It  was  of  all  the  twenty-four  the  enchant- 
ing hour  on  those  summer  seas  where  the 
gentle  trade  winds  blow.  For  a  moment 
he  was  conscious  of  the  tall  edifice  of  snowy 
canvas  towering  above  his  head  and  oscil- 
lating with  a  regular  rhythmic  movement 
upon  the  deep  blue  of  the  heavens ;  then 
the  bright  constellations  of  the  southern 
sky  blazed  forth  between  the  sails  and  rig- 
ging, now  growing  more  shadowy  and  in- 
distinct, and  seemed  to  be  playing  a  solemn 
game  of  hide  and  seek,  vanishing  at  uni- 
form intervals  and  reappearing,  then  hiding 
again,  to  commence  afresh  their  stately 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  129 

evolutions  in  unison  with  the  easy  rolling 
of  the  vessel.  At  last  they  faded  from  his 
sio;ht,  and  beneficent  slumber,  bearer  of 

O        '  ' 

oblivion  and  peace,  descended  and  sealed 
his  eyes. 


XXV 

THE  succeeding  month  of  May  beheld 
our  sailor  boy  in  Quebec,  where  his  ship 
was  unexpectedly  obliged  to  make  a  long 
stop  for  repairs.  There  was  a  retired  street 
in  one  of  the  faubourgs  of  the  city  which 
had  long  ceased  to  have  the  attraction  of 
novelty  for  him,  and  from  a  small  house  in 
this  street  he  was  seen  to  emerge  every 
evening  in  company  with  a  golden-haired 
lassie,  who  was  his  own  affianced  bride; 
frank  and  fearless  in  manner,  her  long 
bright  hair  floating  down  upon  her 
shoulders,  well-dressed  and  ladylike  in  ap- 
pearance, she  would  lead  him  forth  by 
paths  among  the  tender  young  green  grass, 
and  stroll,  unattended  save  by  him,  till 
nightfall. 

It  had  come  about  very  quickly,  that 
betrothal,  almost  in  a  day.  A  Frenchman, 

130 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  131 

a  worthy  sort  of  person  in  moderate  cir- 
cumstances, a  descendant  of  the  old  Can- 
adian settlers,  being  on  board  the  Resolue 
one  day,  had  stopped  for  a  while  and 
watched  Jean  at  his  duty,  then  suddenly, 
to  the  other's  astonishment,  had  blurted 
out :  "  Come  and  see  me ;  I  have  three 
daughters ;  you  shall  select  which  one  of 
them  you  will,  and  she  shall  be  your  wife." 
And  that  was  the  way  he  made  the  girl's 
acquaintance. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  had  never  by  word 
of  mouth  announced  a  preference  for  one 
of  the  three  sisters  over  the  other  two,  but 
it  was  evident  enough  that  pretty  Mar'  was 
the  object  of  his  choice,  and  in  their  capacity 
of  plighted  lovers  they  went  together  when 
and  where  they  pleased,  and  no  one  had  a 
word  to  say  against  it.  While  the  vessel 
was  undergoing  repairs,  his  time  was  his 
own  pretty  much  every  evening ;  hence  he 
was  at  liberty  to  go  and  woo  his  Marie 
when  he  would,  in  that  house  where  the 
parents  seldom  showed  their  faces,  and 


132  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

where  the  two  other  girls  treated  him  as  if 
he  had  already  been  their  brother. 

The  whole  affair  seemed  to  him  to  have 
a  fantastic  air  of  improbability  about  it, 
as  had  the  spring,  which  to  him  was  no 
spring  at  all,  and  it  made  him  smile  to  see 
Mar'  in  those  long,  cold  evenings,  wearing 
muslin  dresses  and  crowning  her  glorious 
golden  mane  with  a  straw  hat.  That  sud- 
den engagement,  those  uncertain  evenings 
of  May,  appeared  to  him  equally  unstable, 
equally  liable  to  change  and  pass  away  like 
all  things  terrestrial. 

Astonished,  and  it  must  be  confessed, 
considerably  amused  at  the  beginning,  at 
a  later  period  unwilling  to  wound  the  sus- 
ceptibilities of  his  new  friends,  who,  if 
eccentric,  were  kind-hearted  and  worthy 
people,  he  let  the  days  run  on  without  say- 
ing anything  to  intimate  his  non-acceptance 
of  the  old  man's  proposal — Marie's  fresh, 
pink  cheeks,  and  pretty  face  meanwhile 
contriving  to  find  fresh  favor  in  bis  eyes 
with  each  succeeding  day. 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  133 

"  Let  the  corvette  go  back  to  France," 
the  father  said,  "  and  stay  with  us.  We 
can  send  and  bring  your  mother  over,  you 
know.  I  have  been  wishing  all  along  that 
I  mio;ht  have  a  Frenchman  for  a  son-in-law, 

O  * 

an  active,  industrious  young  man,  and 
above  all,  dark-complexioned — because  my 
daughters  are  too  fair,  and  my  wife  has 
two  sisters  who  are  albinoes.  Now  you  un- 
derstand me."  Then  he  went  on  to  disclose 
his  plans  for  the  future,  and  explain  the 
nature  of  the  business  (an  open  air  occupa- 
tion of  great  promise)  that  he  proposed  to 
share  with  the  husband  of  his  daughter. 

But  when  the  day  came  for  them  to  sail 
Jean  stuck  by  his  ship.  What,  desert  the 
flag,  renounce  all  hope  of  ever  again  be- 
holding the  shores  of  France,  the  little 
house  at  Antibes,  the  garden  of  Carigou — 
he  would  rather  have  lain  down  and  died 
at  once  !  And  then  there  was  so  little  in 
that  land  of  America  that  appealed  to  his 
soul  of  poet  and  lover  of  the  Orient,  that 


134  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

took  pleasure  in  nothing  save  old  ruins, 
the  immutable,  the  dead  past. 

His  heart  was  a  little  heavy,  however, 
while  they  were  getting  aboard  the  anchor 
to  the  sound  of  a  cheerful  refrain.  He  re- 
gretted to  leave  that  Marie,  with  her  golden 
hair  that  had  so  often  swept  his  face, 
blown  by  the  wind ;  perhaps  he  regretted 
more  the  parcels  of  his  existence,  the 
crumbs  of  love,  that  he  had  left  by  the  road- 
side, among  the  grass,  during  their  walks 
at  eventide. 

He  sailed  aw^ay,  telling  himself  that  he 
would  write  soon,  that  he  would  certainly 
return,  would  marry  her,  perhaps.  But  he 
was  so  constituted  that  with  the  exception 
of  his  mother  and  his  childish  memories 
of  Provence,  there  was  nothing  that  had 
power  to  stir  his  feelings  or  readily  awaken 
his  affections.  Emotion  slipped  from  off 
him,  so  to  speak,  and  found  no  chink  or 
cranny  by  which  to  penetrate  his  inner 
nature  through  its  envelope  of  careless  un- 
concern. 


XXVI 

"  MOTHEK,  let  me  have  just  one  look  at 
the  little  brown  hat  I  wore  that  Easter 
Sunday." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  an  accent  that 
recalled  Antibes,  and  with  a  comical  imita- 
tion of  the  lisping  utterance  of  a  little 
child,  that  he  assumed  occasionally  to  amuse 
his  mother  and  bring  a  smile  to  her  lips. 
She  opened  the  press  where  the  relics  were 
kept,  took  from  it  a  bandbox  of  antiquated 
shape,  and  held  up  for  his  inspection  the 
hat  that  was  inside,  carefully  wrapped  in 
gauze. 

Jean  had  reached  home  that  same  day 
from  his  cruise  on  board  \hvltesolue,  and 
this  evocation  of  ancient  memories  consti- 
tuted one  of  the  melancholy  pleasures  of  his 
return.  The  little  cambric  shirt,  the  grand- 

135 


136  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

father's  coat  and  cane  were  also  brought 
out  and  looked  at,  and  then  the  poor,  paltry 
objects  were  carefully  laid  away  again. 

Afterward  she  showed  him  the  various 
alterations  and  improvements  she  had  made, 
in  his  chamber  particularly ;  there  was  a 
knitted  counterpane  for  his  bed,  the  work 
of  her  hands  during  the  long  winter  even- 
ings, when  her  tired  eyes  were  unable 
longer  to  see  the  stitches  and  she  had  to  lay 
aside  her  embroidery  work  for  the  officers. 
"  I  grant  you  it  looks  a  good  deal  like  the 
spreads  poor  people  use,"  she  said,  "but 
what  would  you  have,  my  son  ?  it  is  use- 
ful, it  is  warm,  and  when  I  am  gone  you 
will  remember  it  was  your  mother  made 
it." 

To  him  everything  appeared  very  nice, 
very  pretty;  after  the  Spartan  simplicity 
that  prevailed  on  shipboard,  the  neatly 
kept  little  apartment,  with  its  freshly  ironed 
muslin  curtains,  white  as  the  driven  snow, 
had  an  air  almost  of  luxury.  And  yet,  on 
this,  his  day  of  home-coming,  the  sky  was 


JEAN  BEBNT,  SAILOR  137 

overcast  and  sombre ;  a  pelting,  relentless 
summer  rain  storm,  cold  as  winter,  was 
inundating  Brest,  shedding  its  gloom  on 
everything. 

She  looked  admiringly  on  him,  her  boy, 
in  the  full  splendor  of  his  one-and-twenty 
years,  so  supple  and  tall  of  stature,  with 
broad,  square  shoulders,  the  pure  profile 
and  warm  complexion  set  in  a  frame  of 
soft  black  beard.  But  what  she  admired 
and  loved  most  of  all  was  his  great  eyes, 
with  their  dark  Arab  brows  and  lashes,  soft 
as  velvet,  eyes  in  which,  when  turned 
affectionately  on  her,  she  could  read  the 
candid  smile  of  childhood. 

He  stood  well  with  his  superiors,  more- 
over, having  acquired  their  favor  by  his 
close  attention  to  his  duties,  and  came  home 
wearing  on  his  sleeves  the  stripes  of 
quartermaster,  which  are  not  given  in  the 
navy  except  for  good  and  sufficient  reason. 
On  board  ship  the  promptness  of  his  intel- 
ligence, his  decision,  his  self-control  and 
forceful  manner  had  secured  appreciation, 


138  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

and  in  addition  to  these  seamanlike  qual- 
ities his  officers,  under  his  air  of  silent 
reserve,  had  noted  in  him  an  unusual  supe- 
riority in  matters  outside  of  his  calling,  and 
had  never  failed  to  treat  him  with  special 
consideration. 

Since  leaving  Quebec  the  Mesolue  had 
t  \vice  touched  at  foreign  ports,  and  still 
Jean  had  not  written  to  Marie.  At  odd 
moments  he  felt  a  sensation  of  regret,  his 
conscience  pricked  him  for  the  sorrow  he 
had  brought  to  her,  and  on  the  day  he 
landed  he  made  an  inward  vow  that  on  the 
morrow,  without  fail,  the  importunate  letter 
should  be  dispatched  for  Canada.  Even 
were  the  fair  one  not  tenderly  beloved,  to 
refrain  from  writing  was  quite  consistent 
with  the  sailor  habits  and  turn  of  mind  to 
which  Jean  was  becoming  constantly  more 
and  more  subjected ;  but  in  addition  to 
that  he  was  also  specially  afflicted  by  nature 
with  that  particular  inertia,  the  inertia  of 
letter  writing,  than  which  there  is  nothing 
more  difficult  to  overcome. 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  139 

And  the  morrow  carne  and  went,  and 
many  a  morrow  after  it ;  the  image  of  the 
fair  young  girl  gradually  became  less  dis- 
tinct and  faded  from  his  memory ;  he  never 
wrote  to  her. 


XXVII 

ON  a  fine  evening  in  August  of  that 
same  year,  Jean  and  his  mother  were  seated 
at  their  window,  their  elbows  resting  on 
the  red  cushion  that  covered  the  broad 
ledge  of  granite.  There  had  been  a  great 
storm,  a  long  and  bitter  disagreement 
between  the  pair  ;  the  first,  it  is  true,  since 
the  evil  days  of  long  ago.  But  now  the 
storm  had  subsided ;  all  was  forgotten  and 
forgiven,  and  they  were  at  one  again. 

As  his  compulsory  period  of  apprentice- 
ship was  drawing  to  a  close,  it  was  his 
mother's  wish  that  he  should  adopt  the 
only  sensible  course,  which  was,  that  he 
should  remain  there  in  Brest  and  take  a 
course  in  hydrography ;  it  was  her  belief 
that  by  giving  his  whole  mind  and  atten- 
tion! to  his  studies  he  might  obtain  his 

140 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  141 

master's  certificate  the  following  year  and 
secure  employment  as  an  officer  with  some 
of  the  great  steamship  lines — if  in  the 
Mediterranean  trade  so  much  the  better — 
and  then  their  future  would  be  clear  before 
them. 

But  to  Jean,  who  during  the  entire  cruise 
had  not  opened  a  book  on  mathematics  and 
had  devoted  all  his  attention  to  the  more 
practical  side  of  his  profession,  it  seemed 
that  what  algebra  and  trigonometry 
remained  to  him  subsisted  in  his  head  in 
the  condition  of  a  badly  snarled  skein,  to 
disentangle  which  would  be  beyond  his 
power,  and,  with  a  feeling  of  childish  terror, 
he  imagined  that  to  attempt  to  master  those 
abstractions  would  be  a  labor  no  less  ardu- 
ous than  those  that  Hercules  inflicted  on 
himself.  He  had  not  been  economical  and 
saved  his  money,  either,  while  visiting  those 
American  ports,  so  that  his  mother's 
embroidering;;  needle  would  have  to  earn 

O 

subsistence  for  them  both,  and  he,  not  over 
well  pleased  with  himself,  did  not  take 


142  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

kindly  to  the  idea  of  living,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one,  on  the  product  of  her  labor. 

Never  an  easy  subject  to  guide  and  influ- 
ence, even  when  a  boy,  notwithstanding 
his  generous,  warni-hearted  disposition,  he 
now  became  obstinate  and  sullen,  with  eyes 
no  longer  the  same ;  with  the  curt,  harsh 
voice  of  the  old  evil  days  when  his  mother 
addressed  to  him  an  ill-timed  reproach, 
one  of  those  well-meant  but  inopportune 
reproaches  that  for  a  time  cause  the  heart 
to  close  impenetrably. 

Then  he  opposed  his  will  to  hers  with 
silent  stubbornness,  for  he  was  harboring 
another  project  of  his  own,  which  tempted 
him  by  the  ease  with  which  it  might  be 
carried  into  execution,  and  would  deliver 
him  from  the  dreaded  mathematical  course : 
to  re-enlist  in  the  navy!  Moreover,  the 
sailor's  life  had  a  strong  hold  on  his  imagin- 
ation, by  reason  of  that  inexplicable  charm 
of  which  so  many  young  men  have  felt  the 
influence. 

And  now  the  project   was   an  accom- 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  143 

plished  fact ;  lie  Lad  signed  his  liberty 
away  the  day  before,  irrevocably ;  had  con- 
cluded a  pact  that  bound  him  to  wear  the 
blue  shirt  for  another  five  years. 

When  he  awoke  that  morning,  however, 
and  with  returning  consciousness  the  irrep- 
arableness  of  what  he  had  done  dawned 
on  his  mind,  he  reproached  himself  for  his 
own  folly,  and  was  oppressed  by  a  bitter 
presentiment  of  the  evil  that  was  to  result 
from  it.  He  announced  the  news  to  his 
mother  while  they  were  eating  their  silent 
breakfast,  treating  the  matter  as  something 
quite  in  the  ordinary,  in  a  few  brief,  care- 
less words.  She,  who  had  vaguely  sus- 
pected the  truth,  looked  at  him  without 
saying  a  word,  without  any  expression  of 
surprise,  with  mournful  eyes  to  which  the 
tears  came  welling ;  then  he,  vanquished 
in  turn,  took  her  in  his  arms  and  their 
difference  was  no  more.  They  remained 
thus  for  a  long  time,  pressed  to  each  other's 
bosom. in  a  close  embrace  of  tenderness  and 
forgiveness,  those  two  forsaken  ones,  who 


144  JEAN  BEBNY,  SAILOR 

were  yet  more  cast  down  by  this  new  out- 
look for  the  future.  "  But  how,  how  could 
I  have  done  otherwise?"  he  said  to  her, 
very  gently,  in  a  tone  of  kind  reproach — 
and  he  almost  succeeded  in  persuading  her 
that  he  was  right.  As  he  was  all  in  all  to 
her,  her  joy  and  delight  that  he  and  she 
were  reconciled  once  more  were  such  that 
she  readily  yielded  to  his  arguments,  and 
did  not  discuss  the  issue  further,  or  seek  to 
restrain  him. 

The  whole  of  that  afternoon  they 
devoted  to  reconstructing  their  plans  on 
these  altered  foundations,  exchanging 
views  how  they  were  to  act  to  make  the 
most  of  the  new  situation. 

He  would  start  on  a  cruise  at  the  earliest 
moment  possible;  fortunately,  his  name 
was  among  the  first  of  those  available. 
An  officer  whom  he  had  known  on  board 
the  HesolueTnadi  promised  to  get  a  berth 
for  him  on  the  Navarin,  that  would  sail  in 
a  couple  of  weeks  to  circumnavigate  the 
world,  a  ten  months'  cruise.  He  would 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  145 

apply  himself  and  work  during  this  long 
voyage,  in  which  he  would  have  nothing  to 
distract  him,  separated  as  he  would  be 
from  civilized  life.  He  would  be  saving 
and  come  back  with  money  in  his  pocket, 
which  he  could  do  now  that  he  had  the 
pay  of  a  quartermaster.  His  position  as 
a  sailor  would  entitle  him  to  attend  the 
lectures  of  the  course  without  paying — so 
many  others  do  so — and  once  his  examina- 
tion passed  successfully  he  would  have  a 
right  to  demand  his  discharge,  and  his  five 
years  would  be  reduced  to  two. 

Entirely  reconciled  and  at  peace  with 
each  other,  looking  bravely  forward  to  the 
future,  they  contemplated  from  their  win- 
dow the  summer  day  drawing  to  an  end. 
They  pursued  their  train  of  thought  in 
silence,  allowing  their  eyes  to  wander  over 
those  mean  and  squalid  surroundings  that 
chance  had  allotted  them  as  their  horizon, 
and  where  by  degrees  external  objects 
were  growing  dim  and  indistinct  in  the 
gathering  dusk :  the  little  terrace  garden 


146  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

underneath,  the  granite  walls,  the  slated 
roofs,  the  tall  chimneys  boldly  profiled 
against  the  golden  sky.  For  them  the 
uncertain  future  depended  entirely  on 
their  strength  of  will  and  power  to  labor  ; 
but  they  trusted  and  were  not  afraid,  and 
more  than  ever,  now  that  that  evil  crisis 
was  gone  by  which  had  caused  them  both 
to  suffer  so  and  in  which  for  a  brief 
moment  she  had  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
supreme  ill,  the  miserable  void  arising 
from  the  feeling  that  she  could  not  trust 
him. 


» 

XXVIII 

IT  seemed  as  if  Jean's  life  was  doomed 
to  be  dogged  by  an  unrelenting  fatality ; 
unwise  decisions,  hopes  unrealized,  plans 
that  came  to  nausrht :  these  were  the  things 

o  o 

that  fate  appeared  to  have  in  store  for  him. 
He  did  not  sail  on  that  cruise  around  the 
world ;  the  Navarin^s  complement  was  filled 
without  him.  Other  seamen  of  his  grade 
had  unexpectedly  returned  from  sea,  and 
in  accordance  with  certain  inflexible  regu- 
lations of  the  service  had  been  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  available  list,  where  no  one 
ever  thinks  of  yielding  his  place.  He  spent 
the  winter  at  Brest  with  his  mother. 

Thanks  to  the  increased  pay  afforded  by 
his  higher  rank,  they  were  able  to  command 
a  few  more  comforts  for  themselves.  He 
spent  nothing  on  himself  except  what  was 
actually  necessary,  and  on  Sundays  his 

147 


148  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

mother  found  herself  enabled  to  appear  with 
him  in  the  streets  attired  with  some  ap- 
proach to  her  former  elegance. 

Sometimes  he  would*  bring  a  friend  or 
two  home  with  him;  not  those  honest, 
rough  and  ready  young  men  of  the  coast, 
be  it  understood,  in  whose  society  he  found 
such  pleasure,  but  youths  of  good  family, 
who,  for  one  reason  or  another,  had  entered 
the  navy  and,  like  himself,  were  men  of 
politeness  and  refinement  fallen  from  their 
proper  sphere.  He  even  invited  them  to 
dine  with  him  occasionally  in  the  little 
dining-room,  where  evidences  of  increased 
prosperity  were  visible,  where  the  hand- 
some vases  that  they  had  brought  from 
Antibes  were  filled  with  flowers  for  the 
first  time  since  the  flight  into  exile,  and  on 
these  occasions  he  manifested  much  anxiety 
that  the  repast  should  be  served  in  con- 
formity with  the  usages  of  good  society, 
and  that  his  mother  should  present  the 
appearance  of  a  lady.  He  would  apologize 
for  the  extreme  modesty  of  the  service,  and 


JEAN  BERN7,  SAILOR  149 

eagerly  embraced  every  opportunity  to  di- 
rect the  conversation  upon  the  topic  of 
their  past,  as  is  frequently  the  way  with 
people  who  have  seen  better  days,  having 
a  good  deal  to  say  of  tneir  mansion  at 
Autibes  and  the  silver  plate  that  they  had 
been  forced  to  sell,  drawing  the  long  bow 
a  little,  and  exaggerating  the  state  in  which 
they  had  lived  in  other  days. 

The  friend  whom  he  thought  most  of 
was  a  true-hearted  and  timid  youth  named 
Morel,  son  of  a  Protestant  minister  in  cen- 
tral France,  whom  dreams  of  travel  and  a 
longing  to  behold  the  sea  had  attracted 
from  his  home ;  a  wretched  sailor,  more- 
over, as  he  could  not  well  help  being  aware 
of,  from  the  attentions  that  were  constantly 
being  bestowed  on  him  by  the  terrible 
sergeant  at  arms. 

Jean  had  at  first  taken  him  under  his 
protecting  wing  out  of  sheer  pity,  and  after- 
ward had  become  attached  to  him.  And  it 
was  not  long  before  lie  was  greatly  sur- 
prised at  discovering  in  this  good-natured 


150  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

protector,  thorough-paced  sailor  that  he  was, 
a  refinement  of  which  he  had  not  deemed 
him  capable,  and  conceptions  of  the  van- 
ished Orient,  and  light,  and  death,  more 
mysterious  and  deeper  and  wider  even  than 
his  own.  Owing  to  their  many  points  of 
similarity,  and  to  the  many  more  of  diverg- 
ence, these  two  men,  who  were  liable  at 
any  moment  to  be  ordered  away  to  the  op- 
posite ends  of  the  earth  and  never  behold 
each  other's  face  again,  had  incontinently 
conceived  a  mutual  liking. 

In  the  same  street  where  Jean's  apart- 
ments were,  this  Morel  had  a  little  chamber 
for  which  he  paid  ten  francs  a  mouth, 
where  he  stowed  away  his  books,  his  only 
earthly  treasure,  as  he  bought  them,  and 
whither  he  retired  to  pore  over  them.  In 
this  little  library,  the  books  in  which  had 
been  selected  with  great  care,  Jean,  whose 
approval  was  always  reserved  for  the  quint- 
essence, would  rummage  somewhat  scorn- 

7  O 

fully;  and  it  amused  Morel  to  see  this 
friend  of  his,  so  little  a  man  of  letters,  open 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  151 

a  volume,  skim  over  two  or  three  pages,  and 
say  in  a  tone  that  admitted  no  contradic- 
tion: "No,  none  of  that  for  me."  "But 
why  ? "  the  pale  and  studious  young  man 
would  ask.  "  Well — how  am  I  to  explain 
my  meaning — that  book  says  nothing  to 
me,  that's  all."  And  each  time  he  was 
right ;  the  book  might  be  a  work  of  erudi- 
tion and  well  written,  but  it  had  no  inform- 
ing soul,  or,  if  it  had,  a  very  small  one. 
The  books  were  few  in  number,  moreover, 
that  reached  the  level  and  met  the  require- 
ments of  his  misty,  nebulous  ideal,  to  which 
he  himself  would  have  been  puzzled  to 
give  definite  form  and  shape. 

The  romance  of  contemporaneous  man- 
ners, even  the  very  best,  had  no  interest 
for  him,  because  his  simplicity  had  never 
fathomed  the  complications  of  the  life  of 
the  present  day ;  it  either  soared  high  aloft 
or  else  diverted  itself  with  the  veriest  trifles. 
Thus,  to  explain,  he  could  read  with  pleas- 
ure three  times  in  succession  a  chapter  of 
the  Apocalypse,  or  Flaubert's  "  Temptation 


152  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

of  Saint  Anthony,"  or  some  sombre  ante- 
diluvian vision  of  Rosny's;  this  was  the 
kind  of  mental  pabulum  he  craved,  or  else, 
when  he  desired  relaxation  for  his  mind, 
the  stupid  buffooneries  and  inane  folly  of 
the  Chat-Noir. 

On  the  whole  Morel's  acquaintance 
seemed  to  exert  an  unlooked-for  influence 
on  him,  teaching  him  to  view  matters  in  a 
broader  and  more  practical  light,  for  he  had 
never  read  so  much  as  he  did  in  his  friend's 
company  during  those  long  winter  evenings. 

Now  and  then,  however,  he  would  break 
away  from  his  books  and  the  honest  fireside 
to  run  after  women.  On  such  occasions  he 
would  take  almost  as  much  pains  to  hide 
his  folly  from  the  sedate  Morel,  who 
believed  him  to  be  at  his  mother's,  as  from 
his  mother,  who  thought  he  was  at  Morel's. 
He  got  out  of  the  scrape  as  best  he  could 
when  detected,  employing  the  lies  of  a 
schoolboy,  the  stratagems  of  a  red  Indian — 
which  were  successful,  sometimes. 


XXIX 

As  winter  was  drawing  to  a  close  and 
his  twenty-second  birthday  was  approach- 
ing, he  received  orders  to  hold  himself  in 
readiness  for  a  cruise,  which,  in  his  forget- 
ful indifference,  he  had  ceased  to  desire. 
He  was  to  be  forwarded  with  a  detachment 
to  another  port,  whence  he  was  to  proceed 
to  Dakar  and  there,  for  eighteen  months, 
form  one  of  the  crew  of  a  gunboat  on  the 
Senegal  station. 

He  knew  something  of  Dakar,  the 
Hesolue  having  put  in  there  once,  and  the 
mention  only  of  the  name  Senegal  was  suffi- 
cient to  bring  before  him  visions  of  dreary 
sandy  wastes,  of  languorous  evenings,  and 
the  sun's  blood-red  disk,  enlarged  to  pre- 
ternatural size,  sinking  into  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  desert.  So,  then,  he  was 

153 


154  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

about  to  penetrate  to  the  heart  of  the 
country  of  the  Blacks,  by  the  mighty  river 
that  serves  as  a  path  for  Europeans.  The 
thought  of  it  all  had  a  strange  attraction 
for  him,  especially  the  neighborhood  of  the 
great  Saharian  desert,  the  impenetrable 
marches  of  the  Moors. 

By  a  special  favor,  and  one  that  is  seldom 
granted,  he  was  accorded  his  liberty  on 
parole  for  the  last  evening  he  was  to  spend 
on  shore ;  the  detachment  would  pass  be- 
neath his  window  at  midnight  on  its  way 
to  the  railway  station,  when  he  was  to 
hasten  down  and  join  it  upon  a  signal 
given  by  the  whistle  of  the  commander. 

The  clergyman's  son,  his  faithful  friend, 
was  invited  to  share  his  farewell  dinner. 
On  the  floor,  beside  his  seat  at  table,  lay 
the  white  duck  sack  containing  his  clothing 
and  effects,  packed  and  closed,  ready  to  be 
slung  from  his  shoulder.  Mother,  son  and 
guest  felt  the  influence  of  that  profound 
oppression  which  prevails  at  the  instant  of 
some  decisive  crisis,  as  when  death  is  im- 


JEAN  SERNY,  SAILOR  155 

minent,  or  a  parting  that  may  be  final ;  the 
three  ate  little,  and  in  almost  unbroken 
silence. 

Jean  saw  that  his  mother  had  placed  her 
hat  and  cloak  where  she  could  reach  them 
easily,  preparatory  to  going  out,  and  he 
divined  her  intention.  "  No,  mamma,  you 
must  not  go  to  the  station,"  he  said  to  her 
very  gently,  taking  in  his  the  hand  that 
lay  beside  him  on  the  table-cloth.  And  in 
answer  to  her  tearful  look  of  disappoint- 
ment, that  seemed  to  ask  humbly  why : 
"  Well,  the  others  will  be  there,  you  see. 
No,  don't  go ;  I  would  rather  give  you  my 
farewell  kiss  here.  Morel  can  go  with  me 
if  he  feels  inclined." 

After  dinner  they  seated  themselves 
before  the  fire  expectantly,  talking  very 
little,  their  conversation  broken  by  long 
intervals  of  silence,  the  two  sailors  smoking 
cigarettes,  the  mother  seated  beside  her 
boy,  and  holding  one  of  his  hands  in  both 
her  own. 

"Mother   dear,   before   I  go   show  me 


156  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

those  things — you  know  what  I  mean,  the 
things  that  are  so  dear  to  us — the  coat,  the 
cane,  everything — I  wish  to  look  on  them 
once  more."  And  when  she  hesitated  and 
glanced  at  the  stranger  who  was  sitting 
there  :  "  What !  on  Morel's  account  ?  It 
matters  not  to  me,  his  being  here.  He  will 
understand." 

Then  she  produced  them,  one  after  an- 
other, the  precious  relics  he  had  called  for, 
and  spread  them  before  him  on  the  table. 
He  sat  for  a  long  time  contemplating  them 
in  rapt  silence,  with  bowed  head,  and  the 
smoke  of  the  fragrant  tobacco  of  the  East 
came  from  his  lips  at  regular  intervals  in 
thin  blue  jets  and  rose  in  spirals  on  the 
air.  And  as  they  were  removed  and  van- 
ished from  his  sight,  enveloped  anew  in 
their  muslin  cerements,  he  experienced  that 
same  impression  of  hopeless  parting,  that 
sensation  of  "  nevermore,"  that  had  visited 
him  that  evening  when  for  the  last  time 
he  closed  behind  him  the  garden-gate  of 
Carigou. 


JKAX  BKRSY,  SAILOR  157 

Suddenly,  through  the  half-open  window, 
there  canie  a  dull,  distant  sound,  disturbing 
the  silence'  of  the  slumbering  street,  the 
cadenced  tramp  of  feet  upon  the  stones; 
then  the  shrill  note  of  a  boatswain's  whistle 
sounded  in  their  ears.  What,  so  soon ! 
Could  it  be  the  detachment  ?  The  clock 
must  be  slow,  then ;  they  had  not  dreamed 
it  was  so  late.  Jean,  in  a  half -dazed  condi- 
tion, folded  his  mother  in  his  arms,  throw- 
ing all  his  heart  and  soul  into  that  last 
embrace,  then,  slinging  his  sack  across  his 
shoulder  and  followed  by  Morel,  hurried 
down  the  granite  staircase  four  steps  at  a 
time. 

Holding  a  lamp  to  light  his  steps,  numb 
and  chilled  with  grief,  speechless,  she 
watched  him  as  he  hastened  down  the  stairs, 
then  flew  to  the  window  and  threw  it  wide 
for  another  glimpse  of  him  in  the  street 
below;  but  all  she  saw  was  a  confused 
group  of  men  moving  away,  an  indistinct 
black  mass  receding  in  the  darkness  under 
a  drizzle  of  cold  rain.  He,  on  the  other 


158  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

hand,  turning  and  looking  up,  could  dis- 
cern her  very  plainly  where  she  stood,  her 
form  outlined  like  a  picture  in- the  frame 
of  the  illuminated  window.  When  the 
black  mass  was  lost  to  sight  and  the  tramp 
of  feet  sounded  faint  in  the  distance,  she 
closed  the  sash — and  was  alone.  Dry-eyed, 
benumbed  and  stupefied,  trembling  in  every 
limb  and  her  forehead  bedewed  with  a  cold 
perspiration,  with  a  sensation  unknown  to 
her  hitherto,  that  none  of  Jean's  other 
departures  had  caused  her,  of  utter  loneli- 
ness and  desolation,  she  sank  upon  a  chair 
before  the  expiring  fire,  and  mechanically 
took  from  the  stone  slab  of  the  mantel  in 
her  tremulous  fingers  a  cigarette,  his  last 
cigarette,  that  even  now  was  exhaling  its 
parting  breath. 


XXX 

ON  the  day  of  his  arrival  at  the  port  to 
which  he  had  been  dispatched  he  was  in- 
formed that  another  quartermaster  had 
returned  to  barracks  the  day  before,  with  a 
claim  that  took  precedence  over  his,  and 
was  to  have  his  position  on  the  vessel  sta- 
tioned off  Senegal. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  many  sailors'  lives 
are  passed  in  traveling  on  bootless  errands. 
Dispatched  in  this  direction  and  in  that, 
like  bales  of  merchandise,  and,  for  the  most 
part,  desiring  nothing  so  much  as  active  ser- 
vice at  sea,  they  are  frequently  condemned 
to  long  periods  of  inactivity  at  the  naval 
stations,  where,  at  evening,  they  seem  to 
enjoy  themselves  so  well. 

Ended,  or  at  least  put  off  indefinitely, 
were  his  anticipations  of  a  protracted 
cruise. 

159 


160  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

His  place  in  the  list  of  those  available 
for  duty  assigned  him  a  position  in  the 
"  Reserve  "-  —which  consists  of  a  number  of 
unarmed  vessels  that  lie  inactive,  moored 
to  the  dock  at  navy  yards,  for  indefinite 
periods  of  time.  For  him,  it  was  as  if  he 
had  been  stranded  in  some  strange  and 
unlooked-for  way  in  this  little  slow  and 
lifeless  town,  with  its  rows  of  white  houses, 
so  trim  and  uniform,  where  the  broad  and 
unfrequented  avenues  ended  in  the  old  ver- 
durous ramparts.  In  this  tranquil  seaport, 
surrounded  by  wide  grass-grown  plains, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  there  was  no  view 
of  the  sea  obtainable,  and  were  it  not  for 
the  sailors  who  enlivened  the  streets  at 
evening  with  their  singing,  one  might  hnve 
thought  himself  in  one  of  the  central  prov- 
inces. This  new  description  of  banish- 
ment, which  sentenced  him  to  live  on  shore, 
and  for  a  space  of  time  that  seemed  to  him 
unwarrantably  long,  produced  in  him  a  sen- 
sation of  depressing  melancholy;  he  had 
not  reckoned  on  being  exiled  to  a  place  so 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  161 

near  his  mother,  and  never  had  he  experi- 
enced a  feeling  of  such  solitariness  as  he  did 
now. 

And  then  he  realized  more  fully  than  he 
had  ever  done  before  the  low  position  that 
the  common  sailor  occupies  in  the  social 
scale,  for  there  were  certain  degrading 
offices  that  until  now  he  had  not  been 
called  on  to  perform.  Among  all  the  men 
collected  on  this  "  Reserve,"  there  was  not 
one  fit  for  him  to  associate  with  as  a  com- 
panion. The  best  he  could  do  was  to  form 
loose  ties  with  two  or  three  young  fellows, 
cottagers  by  birth  and  very  young  and 
simple-minded,  with  whom,  thanks  to  their 
common  fund  of  childlike  gayety,  he  man- 
aged to  pass  an  hour  occasionally,  but  to 
whom  he  was  infinitely  superior  in  intelli- 
gence and  aspiration. 

Ever  abounding  in  good  intentions,  he 
said  to  himself  that  he  would  endeavor  to 
secure  an  exchange  and  leave  the  station  ; 
that  meanwhile  he  would  live  a  virtuous 
and  sober  life,  saving  hi's  money  and  sleep- 


162  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

ing  of  nights  in  his  hammock,  although  he 
found  the  sparsely  populated  ship  and  the 
deserted  arsenal  a  very  lonesome  and 
melancholy  domicile. 

A  tall,  straight,  well-built  young  fellow 
of  twenty -two,  with  great,  gentle  eyes,  with 
silky  black  beard,  he  might  be  seen  stroll- 
ing in  the  streets  at  evening,  with  leisurely 
step  and  lofty  manner,  his  bronzed  throat 
and  the  beginning  of  his  mighty  shoulders 
revealed  beneath  the  ample  turned-back 
collar  of  his  blue  shirt.  With  a  fine 
assumption  of  indifference  he  shot  careless 
glances  at  the  girls  and  maidens  as  they 
passed,  of  whom  none,  however,  seemed  to 
rise  to  the  height  of  his  ideal,  and  he  never 
failed  at  nightfall,  before  the  filing  of  the 
sunset  gun,  to  be  within  the  gates  of  the 
arsenal,  which  closed  and  made  him  a 
prisoner  until  the  dawning  of  another  day. 


XXXI 

BUT  on  a  certain  Sunday  evening,  as  lie 
was  strolling  without  definite  aim  or  object, 
alone,  as  was  his  unvarying  habit,  and  with 
his  assumed  air  of  gravity,  he  entered  the 
courtyard  of  the  railway  station  to  witness 
the  arrival  of  the  train  and  amuse  himself 
by  scrutinizing  the  faces  of  the  by -passers 
—and  perhaps  also,  although  he  did  not 
admit  the  impeachment  to  himself,  with  an 
embryonic  intention  of  inaugurating  a  flir- 
tation, in  the  pleasant  March  .twilight, 
when  the  days  had  already  commenced  to 
lengthen  and  be  more  vernal. 

O 

A  bustling  scene  of  Sunday  life  and 
gayety  presented  itself  to  his  inspection,  a 
crowd  of  worthy  people  returning  from  the 
country.  He  could  not  help  smiling  at 
the  quaint  head  gear  of  some  among  the 
women. 

163 


164  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

"  You  haven't  lost  the  little  satchel, 
Madeleine,  I  hope  ? "  inquired,  in  a  tone 
that  its  tragic  anxiety  made  comical,  a  good 
woman  wearing  a  fringed  mantilla,  plainly 
a  careful  mother  and  housewife. 

He  looked  about  him  for  the  girl  who 
was  called  Madeleine,  with  a  feeling  of 
amusement  that  he  should  know  her  name 
before  he  had  ever  seen  her.  She  had 
passed  on,  and  was  walking  away  with  a 
rapid  step,  but  turned  to  show  that  she 
had  the  little  leather  bag  in  her  possession, 
and  in  the  second's  space  that  was  granted 
him  the  little  that  Jean  could  see  of  her 
regular  profile  seemed  to  him  exquisite. 
And  then,  as  the  surging  wave  of  passen- 
gers streamed  out  through  the  archway  and 
spread  over  the  broad  avenue,  he  followed 
her,  enveloping  her  with  a  look  that  took 
in  every  detail  of  her  dress  and  person. 
Seen,  even  as  he  saw  her,  from  behind,  she 
was  altogether  charming,  supple  and  slender 
of  form,  with  delicately  molded  neck  and 
head,  attired  with  a  simple  elegance  that 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  165 

had  in  it  something  of  distinction.  He  cast 
a  glance  of  inspection  also  on  the  parents ; 
they  appeared  to  be  small  trades -people,  or 
perhaps  mechanics  in  easy  circumstances,  a 
condition  that  rendered  it  out  of  the  ques- 
tion for  him  to  aspire  to  their  acquaintance, 
roving  sailor  that  he  was,  and  ineligible  for 
marital  honors. 

He  hurried  his  steps,  however,  so  as  to 
pass  them  and  secure  another  glimpse  of 
the  girl's  face,  with  the  desire  and  hope 
that  he  might  be  disappointed  on  seeing 
her  more  near  at  hand.  When  we  have 
caught  a  peep  at  a  pretty  girl  along  our 
way  and  find  she  has  produced  an  impres- 
sion on, us  too  deep  for  our  peace  of  mind, 
it  is  a  comfort,  if,  when  we  come  to  look  at 
her  later  on,  we  find  she  is  only  an  ordinary 
mortal ;  it  alleviates  the  feeling  of  profound 
regret  inspired  by  the  thought  that  for  us 
all  that  beauty  is  as  if  it  were  not. 

He  was  now  quite  close  to  the  girl  whose 
name  was  Madeleine,  hanging  back  so  as  to 
defer  the  moment  when  he  should  pass  her, 


166  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

contemplating  her  shell-like  ear,  the  place 
where  the  dense  growth  of  hair  started 
from  her  neck  and  was  carried  up  and  coiled 
in  a  great  lustrous  braid  like  a  skein  of 
softest  silk.  Then,  quickening  his  pace  a 
bit,  he  opened  up  to  view  that  oval  line  of 
cheek  and  chin,  which,  when  it  is  itself 
regular  and  beautiful,  rarely  fails  to  be  an 
index  to  the  remainder  of  the  features.  At 
last  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
pass  her,  and  did  so,  with  head  erect,  eying 
her  from  top  to  toe,  and  encountering  her 
look,  which  sank,  but  not  too  quickly, 
before  his. 

And  his  mind  was  even  yet  more  ill  at 
ease,  for  alas,  she  was  delicious  !  Great 
warm  brown  eyes,  very  deeply  set  in  their 
orbits  and  rather  sombre,  with  a  slightly 
frowning  expression,  as  if  behind  them 
there  were  will  and  intellect.  A  straight 
profile ;  the  chin  a  little  prominent,  but 
irreproachably  pure  in  outline.  A  rare 
characteristic  of  that  face,  and  one  that 
attracted  attention  to  it  at  first  sight,  was 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  167 

its  absolute  and  entire  simplicity  of  line 
and  color.  The  features  seemed  to  have 
been  molded  by  a  sober  and  self-reliant 
hand,  whose  aim  it  was  to  express  nobility 
of  form  with  the  smallest  possible  amount 
of  detail.  The  curves,  so  gentle,  yet  so 
firmly  drawn,  of  cheek  and  neck,  appeared 
to  have  been  produced  at  a  single  stroke, 
complete  in  all  their  grace  and  beauty, 
rendering  the  labor  of  retouching  super- 
fluous. The  whole  had  then  been  left  of  a 
uniformly  pale  shade  of  pink  hydrangea, 
which  was  the  color  of  the  translucent  clay 
from  which  that  fair  face  was  molded. 
The  pale  gold  of  the  hair,  moreover, 
approaching  flaxen,  completed  the  harmony 
of  subdued  tints,  than  which  nothing 
could  be  more  distinguished.  And  the 
startling,  almost  unnatural,  tranquillity  of 
the  ensemble  gave  an  added  life  and  -lustre 
to  the  brown  eyes,  which,  youthful  and 
ardent,  shone  from  their  deep  setting 
beneath  the  thick  brows  contracted  in  an 
involuntary  frown. 


168  JEAN  BERN  Y,   SAILOR 

He  relaxed  his  speed  again,  that  she 
might  pass  him  in  turn  and  enable  him  to 
secure  another  view.  The  relatives,  also, 
were  this  time  subjected  to  a  closer 
examination  than  before :  they  were  father, 
mother,  and  an  elderly  lady,  probably  an 
aunt ;  cheerful,  wholesome-looking  bodies, 
who  might  have  been  good-looking  in  their 
time.  And  what  a  simple  air  of  honesty 
there  was  about  them  !  He  hesitated  to 
follow  them,  with  a  sensation  of  remorse, 
as  if  his  pursuit  might  do  her  harm. 

He  continued  his  espionage,  but  more 
prudently,  keeping  a  good  distance  between 
them  and  cloaking  himself  in  the  shadows 

O 

of  the  gathering  darkness,  to  the  end  that 
he  might  at  least  learn  where  they  lived, 
and  not  lose  trace  entirely  of  pretty  Made- 
leine. 

When  he  had  taken  note  of  the  unpre- 
tentious little  house  within  which  they 
entered  (it  was  in  the  upper  town  and 
faced  a  small  garden),  he  made  his  way 
down  again  toward  the  central  quarters, 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  169 

and  from  there  to  the  localities  wLere  the 
jolly  mariner  disports  himself  at  evening. 
It  was  too  late  to  think  of  returning  to 
quarters ;  the  gates  of  the  arsenal  were 
closed  by  that  time,  so,  to  change  the  cur- 
rent of  his  thoughts,  he  entered  a  music 
hall,  where  facile  conquests  were  obtainable. 

But  he  was  surprised  when  he  became 
aware  the  following  morning  that  that 
pretty  colorless  face  and  those  ardent 
young  eyes  had  filched  from  him  some  por- 
tion of  his  being.  On  account  of  that  girl, 
whom  he  had  seen  but  for  a  fleeting 
moment,  he  had  lost  his  sense  of  isolation 
in  that  strange  seaport ;  the  dead-alive  little 
town  was  less  oppressively  tranquil,  the 
old  ramparts  had  not  so  much  the  aspect 
of  a  prison.  It  was  the  delicious  mirage  of 
love,  which  transforms  all  the  present  and 
obliterates  all  the  past. 

At  nightfall,  as  soon  as  he  was  free,  he 
bent  his  steps  toward  her  house  again,  to 
see  if  fortune  would  favor  him  with 
another  glimpse  of  her. 


170  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

And  behold,  at  that  very  moment  she 
came  hastening  up,  as  if  in  answer  to  his 
summons.  He  trembled  as  he  recognized 
her.  She  was  coming  home  alone,  appar- 
ently in  something  of  a  hurry,  carrying 
in  her  hand  the  little  leather  satchel  that 
had  been  the  innocent  cause  of  so  much 
mischief.  She  was  neatly  gloved,  and  her 
attire,  more  simple  even  than  it  had  been 
the  day  before,  had  an  indescribable  air  of 
appropriateness  and  gentility. 

She  was  coming  home  from  work,  that 
was  plain  enough ;  therefore  she  was  noth- 
ing more  than  a  little  working-girl,  doubt- 
less returning  unaccompanied  to  the 
paternal  fireside  every  evening  at  the  same 
hour — which  would  tend  greatly  to  facili- 
tate matters.  By  her  look,  which  was 
averted  quicker  than  he  could  have  desired, 
he  saw  that  she  had  remarked  him  the  day 
before,  and  was  troubled  at  his  appearing 
again  in  her  path. 

All   his   good   resolutions  of   confining 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  171 

liimself  to  the  ship  and  saving  Ms  money 
were  scattered  to  the  winds.  That  very 
evening  he  went  into  the  town  and  hired 
for  himself  a  small  chamber  in  a  sailor's 
boarding-house,  over  a  cafe  that  had  not 
many  patrons,  in  a  linden-shaded  street 
adjacent  to  the  navy  yard.  To  silence  the 
voice  of  conscience  he  said  to  himself  that 
he  would  bring  his  text-books  and  work 
there  nights ;  it  would  be  so  much  more 
convenient  for  him  than  on  those  old  ships, 
where  he  got  so  little  light  from  the  oil- 
lamps  in  their  rusty  iron  gratings. 

It  was  an  entirely  new  experience  for 
him  to  be  living  in  this  way,  having  a 
room  on  shore  all  to  himself  and  being  his 
own  master,  just  like  a  young  civilian,  and 
by  fits  and  starts  he  was  alternately  either 
melancholy  or  pleased  as  a  little  child  over 
the  sudden  change.  He  thought  constantly 
of  her,  delighted  to  have  found  out  that 
her  name  was  Madeleine,  which  somehow 
seemed  to  bring  him  a  little  nearer  to  her. 


XXXII 

Two  days  later,  just  as  she  was  leaving 
the  dressmaker's  establishment  where  she 
was  employed,  a  small  boy,  in  whose  ap- 
pearance there  was  nothing  to  arouse  dis- 
trust, handed  her  the  following  missive 
from  him : 

Miss  MADELEINE  : 

Someone  whom  you  have  already  seen  three 
times,  and  whose  name  is  Jean,  will  meet  you 
presently  at  the  spot  where  he  saw  you  last  even- 
ing. He  begs  you  will  permit  him  to  speak  to 
you,  if  only  for  an  instant,  provided  there  is  no 
one  passing.  JEAN. 

And  now  he  was  waiting  in  the  gloaming, 
in  a  retired  street  of  venerable  white 
houses,  the  sidewalk  bordered  on  one  side 
by  a  row  of  lindens  and  on  the  other  by 
garden  walls,  the  route  by  which  she  hab- 

172 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  173 

itually  returned  to  the  paternal  dwelling. 
It  was  really  a  most  unusual  display  of 
ceremony  for  him,  accustomed  as  he  was  to 
easy  successes  among  that  class  of  little 
girls  who  trip  home  at  night  alone  and 
unattended,  to  write  that  letter ;  but  then 
this  Madeleine  was  so  little  like  the  others, 
so  little  like,  that  he  did  not  even  know 
what  he  was  going  to  ask  of  her  or  say  to 
her.  And  he  paced  his  beat,  so  many  steps 
this  way,  so  many  that,  or  leaned  with  his 
back  against  the  trunks  of  the  lindens, 
impatient  for  her  to  come;  and  at  the  same 
time  agitated  by  an  emotion  that  was 
closely  akin  to  terror  at  the  thought  of 
seeing  her  turn  the  corner  of  the  street. 

She,  even  before  she  opened  the  note — 
the  first  that  anyone  had  ever  presumed  to 
write  to  her — felt  instinctively  that  it  was 
from  him.  The  poor  child  had  had  a 
lonely  life  of  it,  Of  a  proud  and  imagina- 
tive nature,  she  had  been  brought  up  in 
the  austerity  of  a  Protestant  household,  and 
until  that  day  had  looked  with  scorn  on 


174  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

those  among  her  companions  of  the  shop 
who  suffered  the  attentions  of  "  beaux  " ; 
and  now  here  she  was,  sanctioning  a  pro- 
ceeding that  was  so  entirely  novel  to  her 
without  astonishment  or  anger — because 
that  proceeding  came  from  him.  In  those 
three  days  Jean's  good  looks  and  handsome 
eyes  had  occupied  a  commanding  place  in 
her  imagination.  She  was  disturbed  in 
mind,  with  a  disturbance  to  which  until 
then  she  had  been  a  stranger,  a  vertigo 
that  made  men,  trees  and  houses  reel  and 
dance  before  her  eyes — and  all  the  more 
because  the  audacious  letter  that  had 
worked  the  spell  had  been  given  her  quite 
near  the  place  of  meeting,  affording  her  no 
time  to  reflect,  to  change  her  route,  to 
make  up  her  mind  to  anything.  And  con- 
tinuing on  mechanically  in  the  road  to 
which  she  was  accustomed,  her  ears  ring- 
ing, her  knees  weakening  under  her,  she 
soon  came,  as  if  transported  thither  against 
her  will,  to  the  corner  of  the  street — and 
turned  into  the  lonely  lane,  between  the 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  1V5 

garden  walls — and  beheld  him,  him,  a 
dozen  steps  away,  advancing  to  meet  her. 

To  hear  for  the  first  time  the  sound  of  a 
woman's  voice  whom  one  has  come  to  love 
for  her  face  and  outward  appearance  is  a 
sensation  that  is  capable  of  causing  either 
delight  or  disappointment.  When,  before 
he  had  uttered  a  word,  she  began  to  speak, 
Jean  listened  with  rapture  to  Madeleine's 
voice,  which  was  calm  and  deliberate, 
pitched  on  a  low  key,  very  grave  and  very 
youthful,  like  the  voice  of  a  growing  boy 
that  has  not  yet  assumed  its  definite 
tonality. 

"  Oh,  sir !  Can  it  be  possible — here  in 
the  public  street,  and  in  your  sailor's 
dress  !— 

"  In  sailor's  dress  !  Ah,  true  ;  I  had  not 
thought  of  it.  But  if  I  return  to-morrow 
in  civilian  attire,  will  you  speak  to  me? 
Will  you,  truly  ?  Come,  now,  give  me  your 
promise  for  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  yes ;  I  will,"  she  replied,  raising 
her  brown  eyes,  which  encountered  the 


176  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

blue  eyes  in  their  setting  of  black  velvet 
brows.  They  smiled  on  her,  the  blue  eyes, 
with  a  glad  look  of  gratitude,  childishly 
soft  and- gentle  in  the  masculine  face,  with 
a  dash  of  sauciness,  and  the  protecting 
expression  of  a  great  nobleman. 

"That  is  a  bargain,  then,"  Jean  gayly 
answered.  "  Good-night,  Miss  Madeleine." 
He  doffed  his  cap  to  her,  bowing  slightly 
with  a  charmingly  graceful  air,  and  went 
his  way  with  a  firm  and  rapid  step,  skim- 
ming over  the  pavement  and  scarce  able  to 
restrain  his  desire  to  run  and  jump,  his 
mind  lightened  of  a  great  load,  no  longer 
fearing  to  be  repulsed  by  that  grave-faced 
young  creature.  He  loved  her  now  ten 
times  more  than  he  had  done  before,  and 
thought  ecstatically  of  what  the  morrow 
had  in  store  for  him. 


XXXIII 

"  MY  father  ?  He  was  a  quartermaster's 
mate  in  the  navy.  But  he  is  superannuated 
now,"  said,  on  another  evening,  in  the 
solitude  of  the  same  lindens,  the  same  grave 
young  voice. 

"  "And  your  mother — your  mother  is  still 
living?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  there  is  also  Aunt  Mel- 
anie,  who  makes  her  home  with  us.  That 
evening,  when  we  were  returning  from  the 
station,  she  was  behind  me,  wearing  a  gray 
hat.  Don't  you  remember  ? "  (He  always 
addressed  her  as  if  she  were  a  child,  but 
with  the  most  perfect  respect,  with  never 
a  word  of  love.) 

After  a  moment's  silence  she  went  on 
in  a  troubled,  half -frightened  way,  casting 
down  her  eyes  and  touching  in  turn  with 
the  toe  of  her  shoe,  as  if  it  were  a  task  she 

177 


178  JEAN  BEENT,  SAILOR 

had  allotted  herself,  each  of  the  cobble- 
stones that  raised  their  heads  among  the 
dusty,  sickly  grass : 

"  I  saw  in  the  beginning  that  you  were 
not  a  common  sailor  like' the  rest  of  them, 
Monsieur  Jean." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  in  fact — well,  perhaps  I  am 
not.  But  I  am  none  the  better  for  that,  I 
assure  you."  Shrouding  himself  in  an  air 
of  mystery,  he  parried  in  this  manner  every 
indirect  attempt  to  question  him  in  relation 
to  his  past,  with  a  few  careless  words  of 
bravado.  Then  her  imagination  would 
construct  a  story  such  as  we  read  in 
romances;  he  was  some  prodigal  son,  some 
scion  of  an  illustrious  family  constrained 
to  silence. 


XXXIV 

THINGS  had  now  reached  such  a  pass 
that  they  walked  together  regularly  every 
evening — over  a  short  course  covering  fifty 
or  sixty  metres,  never  more — in  the  upper 
portion  of  that  same  street,  where  there 
were  no  windows  and  no  by-passers,  which 
lay  sluraberotisly  silent  between  the  old 
whitewashed  garden  walls.  The  lindens 
that  arched  the  lane  had  budded  and 
bloomed,  and  now  were  constructing  above 
the  lover's  heads  a  dome  of  verdure ;  the 
evenings  were  becoming  longer,  longer  and 
brighter,  as  Time  in  his  inexorable  flight 
hurried  them  on  toward  summer.  And 
April  was  advancing  with  a  rapidity  that 
they  would  have  been  glad  could  they  have 
checked. 

But  April  was  not  propitious  to  their 

179 


180  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

loves,  the  future  of  which  seemed  so  un- 
certain, and  which  contrived  to  vegetate 
among  those  contracted  and  depressing  sur- 
roundings, and  never  aired  themselves  ex- 
cept along  that  narrow  footpath  of  white 
flagstones  margined  with  green  grass.  The 
heavens,  too,  were  frowningly  sombre  over 
their  heads,  closing  in  on  them  like  the 
contracted  terrestrial  scene,  constantly  filled 
Avith  gray  clouds  whence  the  rain  drops 
came  pattering  down  on  the  young  leaves. 

They  might  walk  as  slowly  as  they 
would,  even  under  the  pelting  of  such  a 
shower  as  drives  ordinary  mortals,  not  lov- 
ers, to  seek  shelter ;  the  end  of  the  street 
was  reached  all  too  soon,  putting  an  end  to 
their  rather  incoherent  conversation,  where 
intervals  of  silence  so  abounded.  It  is  hard 
to  explain  how  much  of  the  ephemeral 
seemed  to  be  mingled  with  the  very  essence 
of  their  love ;  vague  menaces  of  ending, 
and  of  death,  and  of  oblivion,  were  hover- 
ing in  the  air  above  them. 

Jean,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  gayer 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  181 

springtimes  of  bis  bright  land  of  Provence, 
was  disagreeably  impressed  by  this  chill, 
shivering  April,  devoid  of  sunshine,  by  this 
luxuriant  vegetation,  so  fresh  and  green, 
beneath  the  inky  sky,  whither  the  neigh- 
boring ocean  dispatched  its  breezes  and 
great  black  clouds.  His  sojourn  in  the  lit- 
tle stagnant  town  had  certain  aspects  of  tran- 
quillity that  reminded  him  of  that  time  he 
had  spent  at  Rhodes,  and  of  the  evenings 
when  there  came  down  the  hills  to  meet 
him,  at  the  same  twilight  hour  and  by 
paths  equally  white,  a  young  Greek  maiden. 
But  now  his  melancholy  was  of  a  dif- 
ferent sort,  graver,  and,  above  all,  more  in- 
fused with  love — infinitely  more  infused 
with  love.  He  was  conscious  of  such  an 
inroad  on  his  affections  as  he  had  never 
known  before,  and  with  his  boyish  unre- 
flectiveness  he  yielded  to  it.  Whither  was 
he  tending  ?  What  object  had  he  in  view 
regarding  that  little  Madeleine  ?  He  could 
not  have  told  himself.  As  far  back  as 
their  second  meeting  he  had  seen,  merely 


182  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

by  her  fearless  confidence  and  her  way  of 
looking  him  straight  in  the  face,  the  kind 
of  girl  she  was,  and  that  he  could  never 
hope  to  make  her  his  mistress  of  a  month. 
As  for  marrying  her,  he  never  thought  of 
such  a  thing ;  pride  of  birth  and  early 
education  forbade  it.  He  never  admitted 
that  he  had  lost  caste  when  he  lost  his  for- 
tune ;  he  was  become  a  common  sailor,  and 
could  take  the  rough  and  the  smooth  as 
they  came  to  him  as  indifferently  as  the 
next  man,  could  divert  himself  with  Tom, 
Dick  and  Harry  in  a  pothouse  if  he  felt  so 
inclined,  but  was  as  fastidious  as  the  most 
consummate  dandy  at  bottpm  as  regarded 
everything  connected  with  feminine  ele- 
gance. 

He  had  never  even  so  much  as  touched 
her  hand.  Not  pressing  closely  to  each 
other's  side,  as  is  the  way  with  lovers,  but 
parted  by  a  little  distance,  they  paced  their 
short  beat  along  the  shaded  sidewalk  in  a 
constant  state  of  watchful  apprehension, 
with  eyes  and  ears  alert,  talking  in  tones 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  183 

scarcely  above  a  whisper,  but  saying  tilings 
tliat  miglit  have  been  heard  of  all  the 
world ;  such  childish,  artless  prattle,  so  void 
of  all  rhyme  or  reason,  the  whole  charm  of 
which  lay  in  the  inflections  of  their  voice. 

And  when  they  had  come  to  the  end  of 
the  lane,  when  Madeleine  had  given  him 
her  pretty  look  of  farewell,  he  would  take 
his  post  under  one  of  the  lindens  to  watch 
her  as  she  moved  away,  turned  the  corner, 
and  vanished  in  the  noisy,  more  thickly 
populated  street  of  working  people  where 
she  lived.  Even  in  the  view  thus  afforded 
by  her  retreating  figure  she  was  altogether 
charming ;  her  slender  form,  the  form  of  a 
child  that  has  but  just  attained  its  growth, 
was  erect  as  a  poplar,  with  shoulders  well 
thrown  back ;  in  her  lithe,  unhurried 
movements  was  the  grace  arising  from 
youth  and  health. 

As  soon  as  she  had  disappeared  at  the 
street  corner  he  would  go  away,  conscious 
that  his  life  would  be  a  blank  to  him  until 
the  following  evening,  and  not  knowing 


184  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

what  use  to  make  of  his  time.  Then  he 
would  try  the  effect  of  returning  to  his 
little  chamber  and  sitting  down  to  his 
mathematics,  a  little  common  sense  and  a 
little  anxiety  for  the  future  combining  to 
urge  him  to  the  attempt. 

But  who  was  ever  known  to  work  on  a 
balmy  evening  in  the  lazy  springtime,  with 
dreams  of  love  floating  through  his  brain  ? 
Moreover  there  was  everything  to  tempt 
him,  liberty,  solitude,  even  that  civilian 
suit  that  he  had  purchased  for  her  sake 
and  that  had  swallowed  up  all  his  savings ; 
that  suit  which  facilitated  his  enterprises 
with  certain  beflounced  and  befeathered 
beauties,  less  retiring  than  Madeleine  in 
their  disposition. 

And  most  frequently  he  would  go  and 
finish  up  his  evening  in  the  haunts  of 
pleasure,  among  the  music  halls. 


XXXV 

"  IN  times  gone  by,  when  father  used  to 
go  to  sea,"  she  said  to  him,  "  we  were  a 
great  deal  more  comfortably  situated  than 
we  are  now,  Monsieur  Jean.  But  you 
know  how  it  is  in  the  navy  as  soon  as  one 
reaches  the  age  of  retirement.  That  is 
the  reason  why  I  have  been  working  at  the 
dressmaker's  for  the  past  year.  But  that's 
just  how  it  is ;  I  am  only  a  little  sewing 
girl  now,  and  likely  enough  I  shall  continue 
to  be  one  for  the  remainder  of  my  days." 

The  last  audacious  sentence  was  enun- 
ciated in  hesitating  tones — it  was  so  like  a 
point  blank  question  addressed  to  Jean  as 
to  his  intentions — and  when  she  had  finished 
her  cheeks  wrere  rosy  red,  and  she  averted 
her  face,  waiting  for  an  answer  that  did 
not  come. 

185 


186  JEAN  BEJRNY,  SAILOR 

But  what  did  come,  inexorable  as  fate, 
was  the  rain,  bent  on  spoiling  their  stolen 
interview ;  they  could  hear  it  pattering  on 
the  young  leaves  of  the  lindens  with  quick- 
coming  drops,  with  a  sound  as  if  someone 
were  emptying  the  contents  of  a  watering 
pot  upon  a  sheet  of  paper.  Jean  did  not 
mind  it ;  his  blue  jacket  and  bronzed  neck 
had  seen  worse  weather  than  this,  and  he 
could  stand  and  take  a  wetting  without 
flinching;  but  she  made  haste  to  put  up 
her  umbrella,  and  he,  after  the  pretty  way 
in  which  she  had  just  confessed  their  pov- 
erty to  him,  noticed  how  carefully  she  pro- 
tected her  cheap  little  hat,  that  was  never 
changed,  and  her  gloves,  that  were  also  con- 
demned to  constant  service,  and  which  ex- 
hibited marks  of  artistic  darning  at  the 
finger-ends.  He  felt  within  him  a  sudden 
emotion  of  tenderness  and  pity  for  those 
poor  little  belongings  of  hers,  to  which 
he  saw  her  devote  such  anxious  care,  and 
that  emotion  served  to  show  the  extent  to 
which  she  had  penetrated  his  affections, 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  187 

toward  those  profound  regions  where  our 
impressions  inscribe  themselves  in  charac- 
ters of  fire,  the  more  to  make  us  suffer 
afterward. 

"  And  I,"  he  said  in  a  frank,  jovial  voice, 
"do  you  think  that  I  am  rich,  Mademoiselle 
Madeleine?  There  was  a  time  once,  per- 
haps, but The  one  thing  certain  is  that 

I  was  brought  up  by  relatives  who — who 
never  expected  to  see  me  the  sailor  that  I 

am  become.  But  now "  Then  he  went 

on  to  tell  to  that  most  attentive  of  little 
listeners  the  story  of  his  happy  boyhood ; 
his  failure  at  the  examination ;  how  he  had 
come  to  assume  the  blue  jacket  and  bell- 
mouthed  trousers  of  the  sailor;  the  sale  of 
the  house  at  Antibes,  and  his  mother  now 
living  at  Brest  in  a  poor  lodging  uusuited 
to  her  station,  an  exile  from  the  land  of  her 
fathers. 

And  Madeleine  earned  home  with  her 
that  evening  a  heart  full  to  overflowing  of 
joy  and  gladness.  It  was  an  easy  matter 
for  her  now  to  give  up  the  romantic  dreams 


188  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

that  she  had  been  cherishing  concerning 
her  friend's  past  life  ;  she  felt  that  he  was 
brought  so  much  more  close  to  her !  The 
possibility,  the  radiant  possibility,  appeared 
to  her  for  the  first  time  that  she  might  be 
his  wife,  with  the  enchanting  prospect  of 
seeino-  him  installed  for  all  time  at  the 

O 

domestic  hearth  and  board,  and  also  in  a 
cheerful  bedroom  on  the  first  floor,  facing 
the  street,  that  Aunt  Melanie  had  promised 
ever  so  long  ago  to  furnish  against  the 
time  there  should  be  a  young  couple  ready 
to  take  possession  of  it.  And  her  con- 
science ceased  to  trouble  her,  moreover,  her 
remorseful  feelings,  little  puritan  that  she 
was,  now  that  there  was  a  prospect  that 
all  would  be  made  straight  in  ac  honest, 
decent  manner. 

He  had  told  his  story  in  one  of  those 
unreflecting  moments  that  were  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  man,  and  not  more  than  on 
the  day  before,  or  on  any  other  day,  had 
the  idea  of  marrying  her  crossed  his  mind 
when  he  took  leave  of  her  with  a  pleasant 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  189 

smile  and  these  lightly  uttered  words :  "  A 
sailor  and  a  sewing  girl — we  can  give  each 
other  the  right  hand  of  friendship,  you  see, 
Mademoiselle  Madeleine." 

Meanwhile  his  aimless  attachment  for 
this  strange  little  comrade,  so  pleasant  an 
object  for  the  eye  to  rest  on,  continued  to 
wax  and  grow  within  him,  all  the  time 
assuming  a  character  of  chaste  tranquillity, 
almost  of  immateriality.  When  perfect 
respect  exists,  conjointly  with  the  certain 
assurance  of  insuperable  obstacles,  the  love 
of  the  senses  may  go  on  living  and  growing, 
as  his  did,  beneath  the  love  of  the  soul,  in 
a  sort  of  dull  slumber,  until  a  something, 
or  a  nothing,  happens  to  arouse  it :  a  touch 
of  the  hand,  a  dangerous  thought,  a  half- 
formed  hope. 

And  so  they  came  to  love  each  other 
with  a  tenderness  that  was  as  pure  and  holy 
on  the  one  side  as  on  the  other.  She,  un- 
taught and  ignorant  in  matters  of  the  heart 
and  reading  her  Bible  each  night  before 
retiring ;  doomed  yet  for  a  few  pale  springs 


190  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

like  this  to  waste  to  no  purpose  her  bright 
young  grace  and  beauty,  then  to  grow  old, 
and  fade  and  wither  in  the  unvarying 
dreary  monotony  of  those  same  streets, 
imprisoned  between  those  unchanging  walls. 
He,  so  young,  yet  already  surfeited  with 
kisses  and  caresses;  for  dwelling  place 
having  the  wide  world  before  him  where 
to  choose ;  liable  to  be  called  away  at  any 
moment,  to-morrow,  perhaps,  never  to  re- 
turn, and  to  leave  his  bones  in  distant  seas. 


APEIL  had  passed  and  May  was  coming 
in,  veiled  like  its  predecessor  in  fog  and 
mist,  sombre  and  sunless,  with  heavy 
winds  from  the  sea  and  unseasonable 
storms.  The  lonely  quarter  where  the 
lovers  held  their  trysts  was  redolent  of  the 
perfume  of  the  linden  blossoms,  ready  to 
fall  and  die. 

They  were  old  friends  now,  of  six  weeks' 
standing.  Grown  bold  by  reason  of  never 
seeing  anyone  pass  that  way,  they  held  long 
confabs  under  the  lindens,  and  he,  because 
he  thought  the  uniform  became  him,  ven- 
tured to  appear  in  sailor  attire.  As  the 
twilight  lengthened  so  did  their  interviews. 

But  it  was  no  more  than  was  to  be  ex- 
pected that  prying  eyes  and  ears,  of  which 
they  were  blissfully  ignorant,  should  long 

191 


192  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

since  have  detected  their  secret.  At  the 
dressmaker's  shop  the  other  girls  would 
look  at  Madeleine  and  smile  significantly, 
and  if  her  parents  had  not  yet  been  in- 
formed of  what  was  going  on  it  was  greatly 
to  be  wondered  at,  for  all  the  neighbors 
knew. 

One  evening  Jean,  who,  as  was  his  inva- 
riable custom,  had  been  the  first  to  reach 
their  meeting  place,  perceived  a  man,  whose 
light  hair  was  beginning  to  be  touched  here 
and  there  with  silver,  tramping  up  and 
down  the  sidewalk  in  an  expectant  sort  of 
way,  who,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  came 
forward  with  an  evident  intention  of  ad- 
dressing him.  He  was  erect  and  martial  in 
bearing,  and  his  blue  cloth  frock,  buttoned 
to  the  chin,  was  of  the  regulation  naval 
cut;  manifestly  some  retired  petty  officer, 
who  had  converted  his  old  uniform  coat 
into  civilian  attire  by  cutting  off  the  brass 
buttons.  Jean  had  a  vague  recollection  of 
the  face  for*  having  seen  it  one  Sunday  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  station.  But  in  any 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  193 

event,  he  would  have  recognized  the  frown- 
ing brows  and  long,  reddish-brown  eyes, 
set  as  in  a  cavern  under  the  beetling  pro- 
jection of  the  forehead,  that  the  old  mariner 
had  transmitted  to  his  daughter,  with  some- 
thing, it  may  be,  of  his  character  and  tem- 
perament. They  looked  each  other  squarely 
in  the  face,  each  understanding  in  an  in- 
stant who  the  other  was. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you ! "  said  the  man  in  an 
unpleasant,  gruff  voice  from  between  his 
tight-shut  teeth. 

Jean's  only  answer  was  to  raise  his  hand 
to  his  cap  in  salute ;  he  was  disarmed, 
because  he  was  her  father  and  had  eyes 
like  hers,  and  his  feeling  toward  him  was 
almost  one  of  filial  submission. 

"  Be  oft'  with  you !  "  the  man  continued, 
with  the  same  gruff,  dictatorial  manner,  as 
if  he  were  on  shipboard  giving  orders  to 
his  men,  but  also  with  a  certain  indescrib- 
able softness  that  rose  suddenly  to  his  eyes, 
"  take  yourself  off  !  It  is  I  who  will  see 
her  home  this  evening." 


194  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

And  Jean  took  himself  off,  having  first 
doffed  his  cap  and  saluted  respectfully. 
There  had  been  no  spark  of  hatred  elicited 
from  the  meeting  of  their  glances,  from  the 
clash  of  their  conflicting  wills. 


XXXVII 

THE  next  day  all  the  quartermasters  of 
the  reserves  were  notified  by  a  sergeant  at 
arms  that  their  presence  was  required  at 
the  office  of  the  commander  of  the  yard. 

All  the  men  had  a  pretty  shrewd  idea 
of  what  was  in  the  wind :  one  of  them  was 
wanted  to  go  as  a  volunteer  to  the  extreme 
East,  and  there  serve  for  a  year  or  two  on 
board  a  small  gunboat  on  one  of  the  stag- 
nant, sluggish  rivers  of  that  inhospitable 
country,  where  the  climate  is  almost  certain 
death. 

Anxious  considerations  pressed  on  Jean's 
miud.  There  could  be  nothing  better  than 
this  expedition  to  serve  his  plans :  he  might 
go  out  there  and  complete  his  term  of 
enlistment,  saving  up  his  pay  meanwhile  to 
enable  him  to  spend  a  year  at  Brest  after- 
ward and  study  for  his  master's  examiu- 

195 


196  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

atioD.  He  said  to  himself  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  go. 

But  at  that  juncture  Madeleine's  pale  face 
rose  before  his  mental  vision,  causing  him 
such  a  feeling  of  deep  distress  that  he 
paused,  recoiling  at  the  thought  of  taking 
such  a  grave  and  decisive  step,  waiting,  and 
hoping  that  someone  else  would  speak. 

Everyone  was  silent.  A  silence  of  diffi- 
dence, dashed  with  the  sense  of  the  danger 
there  was  in  the  enterprise.  In  addition 
to  which  it  may  be  said  that  sailors  never 
respond  when  applied  to  indirectly  and  in 
a  body. 

"  I  will  go,  Captain,"  he  finally  said, 
tremblingly  and  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  You,  Berny,  do  you  want  it  ?  "  replied 
the  officer.  "  All  right ;  unless  the  admiral 
orders  otherwise,  you  may  consider  your- 
self booked  for  the  China  seas."  He  called 
him  back  to  add  these  words,  more  terrible 
than  all  the  rest :  "  As  resrards  the  custom- 

O 

aiy  leave  of  absence,  you  see,  I  believe — I 
am  afraid  that "  and  his  tone  and  man- 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  197 

ner  intimated  plainly  enough :  you  will 
Lave  to  do  as  best  you  can  without  it. 
"The  request  for  the  detail  was  marked 
urgent,  and  if  I  am  not  mistaken  you  will 
start  with  the  detachment  for  Toulon  early 
to-morrow  morning." 

He  could  feel  the  violent  thumping  of 
his  heart,  and  the  blood  surged  through  his 
veins,  causing  his  ears  to  ring.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  saying :  "  Oh,  no ;  not  that ! 
Try  to  obtain  another  man ;  I  take  back 
my  word,"  but  dared  not.  In  the  first 
place,  it  was  so  manifestly  his  duty  to  go ; 
and  then  there  was  the  fatalism  that, 
unknown  to  himself,  lurked  in  his  being 
and  made  him  bow  to  the  least  sign  from 
Destiny  ;  and  finally,  by  a  peculiarity  that 
is  possessed  by  sailors  generally,  he  always 
felt  his  lips  close  with  an  invincible,  mute 
reserve  in  presence  of  his  chiefs  when  they 
were  strangers  to  him.  All  he  did  was  to 
turn  on  the  officer  his  eyes,  dilated  with 
sudden  anguish,  reply,  "  Very  well,  Cap- 
tain ! "  and  leave  the  room  with  the  air  of 


198  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

a  man  who  has  been  struck  on  the  head 
with  a  club. 

He  was  granted  no  leave  of  absence. 
This  is  a  favor  that  is  almost  always  ex- 
tended to  seamen  who  are  ordered  away  on 
distant  service,  longer  or  shorter,  as  the 
case  may  be,  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
assignment;  but  in  cases  of  urgency  the 
leave  may  be  withheld. 

He  was  consigned  to  barracks  that  same 
evening,  where  he  made  up  his  kit  and 
adjusted  his  accounts,  and  where  he  was  to 
remain  with  the  eight  other  men  of  the 
detail  until  the  time  came  for  their  depart- 
ure. They  assembled  in  the  dim  twilight, 
under  the  archway  of  the  courtyard,  calling 
one  another  by  name,  curiously  studying 
one  another's  face,  those  nine  men  who  had 
been  so  suddenly  caught  in  company  at 
one  cast  of  the  net;  who  were  to  be  co-part- 
ners in  exile  out  there  in  that  strange  laud, 
so  far  from  home,  and  share  the  same  dan- 
gers and  fatigues.  No  leave  was  granted, 
no  opportunity  to  say  good-by  to  wives  and 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  199 

parents ;  that  was  the  thing  that  seemed  to 
them  hardest  of  all  to  bear.  Nevertheless, 
two  or  three  were  singing,  but  one,  a  young 
man,  was  weeping  bitterly. 

His  mother !  A  feeling  of  deepest  ten- 
derness filled  Jean's  heart  as  he  thought  of 
her ;  it  was  source  of  bitterest  grief  that  he 
was  unable  to  embrace  her ;  but  it  was  for 
her  sake  that  he  was  going  away,  for  their 
future,  the  joint  future  of  them  both.  This 
distant  service  for  which  he  had  volunteered 
was  to  be  in  some  sort  the  expiatory  act  of 
his  life.  Then,  his  conscience  easy  on  that 
score,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  her  a  long, 
affectionate  letter,  that  did  much  to  tran- 
quillize his  feelings. 

And  Madeleine  !  That  he  should  be  torn 
from  her  thus,  should  be  given  no  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  to  her,  to  send  her  a  line  by 
messenger,  even  to  see  her  dear  face  once 

O         * 

more !  Should  he  write  to  her  ?  But 
what  could  he  write ;  ask  her  to  marry 
him  ?  His  heart  counseled  him  to  the  step, 
although  she  was  but  a  poor  little  sewing 


200  JEAN  SERNY,  SAILOR 

girl ;  but  then  by  such  a  marriage  he  would 
be  condemning  himself  to  remain  a  sailor 
all  his  life ;  above  all,  he  would  dash  to  the 
ground  his  mother's  cherished  hopes,  whose 
dream,  had  ever  been  that  later  on,  when 
he  should  be  master  of  a  vessel,  lie  would 
restore  their  shattered  fortunes  by  taking 
to  wife  some  pretty  young  heiress  of  Pro- 
vence. What  was  he  to  do,  then,  since 
that  door  was  closed  to  him,  since  her 
father  stood  between  them  and  he  would 
have  to  face  down  all  social  prejudices  and 
conventionalities,  against  which,  however, 
all  his  being  revolted,  this  evening,  in  the 
overmastering  love  that  filled  his  heart  ? 

He  seated  himself  at  his  table  to  write  a 
letter  of  farewell  to  Madeleine ;  he  com- 
menced two,  which  he  immediately  de- 
stroyed. To  whom  could  he  intrust  a 
letter,  moreover,  so  that  she  would  be  cer- 
tain to  receive  it  ?  Would  she  be  allowed 
to  receive  a  communication  from  him  in 
the  house  of  her  parents  ?  And  to  think 
that  she  was  so  near,  perhaps  at  that  very 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  201 

moment  returning  to  her  home  along  the 
familiar  ways,  alone,  distracted,  straining 
her  eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  whom 
she  was  never  to  see  more. 

The  end  of  it  was  that,  at  a  late  hour  of 
the  evening,  he  determined  it  would  be  best 
to  wait  and  write  her  a  good  long  letter 
from  Port  Said,  or  some  other  point  among 
the  first  stops  they  made,  at  which  her 
father  could  not  take  offense ;  a  letter 
bearing  a  foreign  postmark  would  be  more 
likely  to  be  received,  because  the  distant 
writer  was  less  an  object  of  dread,  and  it 
might  well  be  that  they  would  see  no  more 
of  him. 

That  he  did  not  write,  or  that  he  put  oft' 
doing  so  until  a  more  remote  period,  was 
attributable  also,  in  no  small  degree,  to  that 
mental  inertia,  to  that  habit  of  waiting  on 
fatality,  which  was  so  important  an  element 
in  his  temperament — in  connection  with 
his  subsequent  stubbornness  in  adhering  to 
the  decisions,  wise  or  foolish,  as  might  be, 
at  which  he  afterward  arrived.  And  yet 


202  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

the  remorse  and  distress  he  experienced 
were  great — as  was  his  love;  he  had 
never  known  a  passion  to  possess  him  thus 
entirely. 

The  next  morning  beheld  him  once 
again  in  the  railway  station  where  he  had 
first  seen  Madeleine.  In  company  Avith  his 
new  comrades  he  took  the  train  for  Toulon, 
thence  to  start  forth  on  one  of  those  expe- 
ditions full  of  uncertainty  and  danger,  the 
prospect  of  which  made  the  shrill  scream  of 
the  locomotive  ring  in  his  ears  with  a 
strangely  boding  sound.  And  as  the  wheels 
began  to  revolve  he  turned  his  eyes  upon 
the  window,  with  a  sensation  of  infinite 
sadness  and  desolation,  for  a  last  look  at 
the  little  walled  town  which  he  had  entered 
a  short  four  months  ago  with  such  light- 
hearted  indifference. 


XXXVIII 

ACROSS  the  Indian  Ocean  the  good  ship 
Circe  was  plowing  her  way  merrily  among 
the  waves,  rocked  gently  by  the  tranquil 
summer  sea,  her  white  sails  glinting  in 
the  glowing  light,  hanging  like  a  speck 
between  the  upper  and  nether  expanses  of 
deep  blue  infinity,  and  leaving  behind  her 
her  ever-lengthening  trail  of  snowy  foam 
that  flashed  and  sparkled  in  the  sunlight. 

Port  Said  had  been  left  behind  some 
days  before,  and  -Aden  also,  and  Jean's 
letter  to  Madeleine  still  remained  un- 
written. When,  knowing  himself  as  he 
did,  he  made  the  mental  admission  that 
there  was  a  probability  of  this  adventure 
ending  as  the  other  one  had  done,  the 
adventure  at  Quebec  with  the  golden- 
haired,  laughing  Canadian  girl,  he  experi- 

203 


204  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

enced  a  feeling  of  serious  dissatisfaction 
with  himself,  and  more  particularly  when 
he  remembered  how  confiding  she  had 
shown  herself — so  confiding  and  so  poor. 
At  the  recollection  of  her  graceful  and 
touching  confession  of  poverty,  at  the 
recollection  even  of  certain  details  of  her 
attire,  the  poor  cheap  dresses  that  she  pro- 
tected so  tenderly  against  the  rain,  her 
little  gloves  darned  and  mended  with  such 
careful  pains,  he  felt  himself  overcome  by 
one  of  those  infinitely  tender  sensations  of 
pity  that  constitute  one  of  the  manifesta- 
tions of  a  deep,  pure  love,  and  he  made  a 
vow  to  himself  that  he  would  write  to  her 
as  soon  as  he  reached  his  destination.  But 
then  it  wTas  such  a  troublesome  letter  to 
write,  since  he  had  not  yet  made  up  his 
mind  to  marry  her  ! 

There  were  moments  also  when  he  was 
oblivious  of  everything,  thanks  to  the 
mirth  and  merriment  of  his  comrades,  and 
to  the  entrancing  grandeur  of  the  spectacle 
that  surrounded  them  on  every  side. 


JEAN  BEBNT,  SAILOR  205 

The  Circe  was  to  delay  her  voyage  long 
enough  to  set  him  ashore  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Red  River,  together  with  the  other 
seamen  who  were  intended  to  fill  up  the 
complement  of  the  Estoc.  This  latter  was 
a  corvette,  an  old-fashioned  sailing  vessel 
with  a  great  spread  of  canvas ;  grown  old 
in  the  service,  and  weary  after  many  years 
of  cruising,  she  was  now  going  out  on 
station  in  the  China  seas,  which  was  to  be 
the  last  act  in  her  career. 

As  it  chanced,  several  of  the  old  crew  of 
the  Resolue  had  been  drafted  on  board, 
and  Jean  thus  found  himself  again  sailing 
in  company  with  Le  Marec  and  Joal,  his 
two  former  chums  and  messmates,  as  well 
as  with  several  others  whom  he  knew,  and 
the  ties  of  old  acquaintance  were  drawn 
taut  once  more. 

Le  Marec,  who  had  attained  the  dignity 
of  second-malt  I- e,  had  been  carried  off  his 
feet  by  a  sudden  gust  of  passion  eight  or 
ten  days  before  they  sailed  and  taken  to 
himself  a  wife.  He  was  become  extremely 


206  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

saving,  and  had  in  view  one  single  object, 
which  was  to  serve  his  time  out  and  go 
with  his  wife  and  live  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Brieuc,  in  a  house  that 
should  have  a  garden  attached  to  it.  He 
was  already  grave  and  severe  of  aspect; 
wind  andx  water,  moreover,  had  conspired 
to  impart  a  deep  hue  of  purple  to  his 
countenance,  which  at  times  appeared 
fierce.  There  were  a  few  white  hairs 
beginning  to  show  about  his  temples,  and 
his  one-and-thirty  years,  together  with  his 
extraordinary  breadth  of  beam,  made  him 
consider  himself  entitled  to  assume  a 
paternal  air  toward  his  comrades. 

Joal  was  in  the  mousgueterie,  and  was  a 
good  type  of  the  helot  of  the  service,  his 
mind  equally  void  of  ambition  or  aspira- 
tions ;  his  limited  understanding  had  sub- 
mitted cheerfully  to  receive  the  yoke  of 
discipline.  All  of  life  for  him  was  summed 
up  in  the  strict  observance  of  his  daily 
duties :  at  such  a  time  of  the  day  he  was 
to  scour  a  certain  portion  of  the  deck  with 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  207 

sand,  at  such  another  time  he  was  to  polish 
certain  brass-  or  iron-work  with  tripoli,  and 
he  was  never  to  permit  himself  to  ques- 
tion the  propriety  or  impropriety  of  these 
actions.  Outside  this  sphere  he  was  an 
excellent  fellow,  and  his  friends  were  sure 
of  his  affection  and  devotion  at  all  times, 
and  of  his  tender  sympathy  in  misfortune. 
The  other  members  of  Jean's  mess 
were  sufficiently  agreeable,  simple-minded 
youths,  who  spent  much  of  their  time  in 
laughing  and  joking,  and  were  pretty  good 
at  castle-building  also,  when  they  had  time 
for  it,  although  they  did  not  know  the 
name  of  this  latter  silent  pastime.  And  at 
the  pleasant  evening  hour  devoted  to  spin- 
ning yarns  and  singing  songs  on  the  fore- 
castle, they  would  collect  in  little  social, 
compact  groups,  then  would  lie  down  on 
the  scrupulously  clean  deck  and  go  to  sleep 
in  the  white  moonlight  or  under  the  blaz- 
ing southern  stars. 

O 

During  the  voyage  Jean  was  disturbed 
in  the    profounder  and  more    mysterious 


208  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

recesses  of  his  soul  by  a  multitude  of 
tilings  that  his  comrades  saw,  but  in  a 
much  more  confused  and  unintelligent  way 
and  with  infinitely  less  depth  of  feeling: 
the  sands  and  mirages  of  the  Ked  Sea,  and 
its  blood-red  sun,  setting  each  evening 
in  terrible,  Apocalyptic  splendor;  Sinai, 
which  they  beheld  in  the  distance,  glowing 
like  a  seven-fold  heated  furnace,  against  a 
sky  of  molten  gold  ;  the  ancient  pastures 
of  the  Arabs,  there,  close  on  the  port 
bow — all  so  familiar  to  him  !  And  before 
him  lay  the  great,  the  disquieting  attrac- 
tion, the  enigma  of  that  land  of  the  Orient 
that  he  had  never  seen. 


XXXIX 

THE  good  ship  dropped  her  anchor  at 
last  in  her  haven  at  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
He  had  reached  his  journey's  end. 

He  beheld  before  him,  in  reality,  not  in 
a  dream,  the  little  gunboat  that  had  been 
in  his  thoughts  so  much  of  late.  She  was 

O 

resting  tranquilly  on  the  bosom  of  the  dull- 
hued,  sluggish  river,  made  fast  to  the  bank 
among  the  tall  reeds,  in  an  atmosphere  so 
stifliii£r  that  the  slightest  movement  brought 

O  O  O 

the  perspiration  out  in  great  drops  upon 
the  forehead.  Estoc,  he  read  in  large,  plain 
letters  on  her  black  stern,  the  name  that 
had  haunted  him  all  through  his  voyage 
with  a  sensation  as  if  it  were  ominous  of 
evil. 

This  was  her  anchorage,  and  conse- 
quently this  little  nook  of  earth  was  to 
be  Jean's  residence  for  the  next  eighteen 

209 


210  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

months.  The  Estops  new  men  had  been 
brought  to  the  spot  at  evening,  at  that 
brief,  enchanting  moment  that  succeeds  the 
debilitating  heat  of  the  day  and  precedes 
the  coming  of  the  night.  Extending  along 
the  bank  of  the  river,  the  water  of  which 
somehow  failed  to  convey  to  the  eye  the 
usual  impression  of  grateful  coolness,  was 
a  village  among  the  trees,  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  a  road  cut  through  the  dense  veg- 
etation and  bordered  with  little  portals 
that  conducted  to  dwellings  buried  in 
masses  of  verdure ;  a  little  way  beyond 
this  the  road  made  a  bend,  and  the  pros- 
pect ended  in  the  shadows  of  a  gloomy 
forest.  Imprisoned  aboard  their  ship  dur- 
ing their  long  voyage,  with  nothing  to  in- 
terest them  save  the  view  of  sky  and  sea 
that  they  obtained  from  the  deck,  the  men 
were  unprepared  for  the  strangeness  of  the 
exotic  scene.  All  their  senses  were  vividly 
impressed,  and  Jean  almost  forgot  to 
breathe.  Their  lungs,  too,  seemed  to  ex- 
pand and  contract  more  laboriously,  as  in 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  211 

an  overheated  vapor  bath,  permeated  by 
niusky  odors. 

The  soil  was  of  a  bright  red,  the  vegeta- 
tion on  every  hand  of  an  intense  metallic 
green,  and  the  vividness  of  these  hues  was 
such  that  the  only  object  with  which  they 
could  be  compared  was  the  crude,  fantastic 
coloring  of  a  Chinese  picture  book ;  even 
in  the  twilight  the  colors  stood  out  in  high 
relief  against  the  increasing  darkness;  it 
seemed  as  if  the  red  of  the  soil  and  the 
green  of  the  trees  must  continue  to  be  visi- 
ble even  in  the  obscurity  of  night  by  their 
excess  of  brilliancy.  The  little  portals 
that  led  to  the  hidden  habitations  were  all 
preposterously  fantastic  in  design,  with  a 
vague  attempt  to  imitate  animal  forms  in 
their  ornamentation ;  they  seemed  to 
shrink  and  endeavor  to  conceal  themselves, 
as  if  ill  at  ease,  under  that  perennial 
and  depressing  vegetation  that  dwarfed 
mankind  and  was  victorious  over  every- 
thing. The  men  and  women  to  whom  this 

O 

scene  was  the  setting  of  their  daily  life- 


212  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

drama  came  and  went,  attending  to  their 
strange  little  occupations  ;  they  had  small 
furtive  eyes,  turned  upward  obliquely  at 
the  cornel's ;  their  yellow  skin  had  bor- 
rowed a  tinge  of  red  from  the  red  soil ; 
they  walked  with  a  catlike,  noiseless  tread, 
either  bare  of  feet  or  shod  with  paper  san- 
dals. The  aspect  of  the  domestic  animals, 
lazily  ruminating  by  the  fences,  of  the  birds 
nestling  in  the  tree  tops,  of  the  most  tiny 
flower  that  grew  by  the  roadside,  told  the 
new-cornel's  what  life  was  to  be  for-  them 
in  that  remote  hostile  land  that  fate  had 
assigned  them  for  their  abode. 

And  this  little  world,  living  its  life  in 
death  among  the  trees,  a  race  apart  from 
all  mankind,  did  not  appear  so  much  sur- 
prised that  it  was  thus  as  that  it  was  possi- 
ble there  should  be  worlds  unlike  it.  The 
saffron-hued  natives,  whose  bodies  exhaled 
a  mingled  odor  of  musk  and  sweat,  passed 
the  sailors  without  condescending  to  turn 
their  heads,  giving  them,  as  they  went  by, 
a  vaguely  supercilious  smile,  which  the  blue 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  213 

jackets  returned ;  the  feeling  on  each  side 
was  that  they  were  and  would  be  always 
strangers  to  one  another.  To  the  younger 
of  the  females  alone  did  the  sailors  pay  any 
attention  with  some  show  of  gravity,  for  in 
the  human  race  the  senses  do  not  pause 
before  the  barriers  that  separate  races. 

Upon  the  whole  it  was  an  impression  of 
mocking  irony,  but  more  still  of  something 
sinister  and  terrible,  that  the  men  derived 
from  their  reception  in  this  quarter  of  the 
globe,  that  had  been  for  centuries  forming 
and  modeling  its  frail,  yellow  denizens, 
with  their  catlike  smile  and  tread,  and 
that  was  conscious  of  its  power  still  to  go 
on  annihilating,  with  its  miasms  and  its 
torpidity,  the  race  of  white  men  in  untold 
numbers. 


XL 

FOE  nearly  a  year  now  Jean  had  been 
living  in  that  strange  land.  His  cheeks 
had  taken  on  a  yellow  hue,  like  those  of 
the  small  feline  beings,  his  neighbors,  and 
his  muscular  force  had  wasted  greatly. 

He  had  tried  to  work  during  his  unem- 
ployed moments  on  board  the  Estoc,  but 
the  incessant  humid,  oppressive  heat,  which 
continued  uninterruptedly  by  night  as  well 
as  by  day,  produced  a  peculiarly  debilitat- 
ing fatigue,  not  only  of  the  body  but  of 
the  mind,  and  he  would  remain  seated 
before  his  diagrams  and  figures  for  hours 
at  a  time,  incapable  of  applying  himself, 
with  a  sensation  in  his  brain  of  utter  void 
and  emptiness.  And  the  poor  little  note 
books,  reminders  of  his  college  days,  that 
were  constantly  becoming  less  and  less  ser- 
viceable to  him,  filled  as  they  were  with 

214 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  215 

matter  the  sense  of  which  eluded  his 
apprehension,  had  begun  to  assume  an 
aspect  of  great  antiquity,  owing  to  the 
inroads  of  mold,  to  the  attacks  of  the 
white  ants  and  the  legion  of  infinitesimally 
small  creatures  that  are  endowed  with 
means  of  destruction  a  thousand,  times 
swifter  and  more  powerful  in  that  land  of 
death. 

But  an  act  of  highest  import  in  his 
existence  had  been  accomplished  finally : 
it  was  written  and  dispatched,  that  letter 
to  Madeleine,  that  for  so  long  a  time  had 
been  the  torturing  anxiety  of  his  waking 
moments.  Little  by  little  the  girl's  pretty 
face  had  come  to  occupy,  almost  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  else,  his  thoughts,  now 
dulled  and  stupefied  by  the  noxious  influ- 
ences of  the  atmosphere.  Owing  to  the 
effect  produced  on  him  by  solitude  and 
nostalgia,  he  had  come  to  live  in  such  con- 
stant, persistent  dreams  of  France,  and 
France  with  her,  that  he  had  thrown  all 
his  objections  to  the  winds  and  made  up 


216  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

his  mind  to  do  the  one  thing  it  was  possi- 
ble for  him  to  do :  marry  her. 

That  the  step  would  have  an  injurious 
effect  upon  his  future  there  could  be  no 
doubt ;  it  would  place  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  that  return  to  Antibes,  which,  not- 
withstanding his  want  of  steadiness  and 
persistency  in  carrying  out  his  plan,  still 
continued  to  be  his  great  object  in  life. 
But,  once  she  was  down  there  in  Provence, 
who  would  ever  suspect,  beholding  her 
walking  at  his  side,  so  pretty,  so  graceful, 
with  such  charming  and  distinguished 
manners,  that  she  had  ever  been  a  working- 
girl,  earning  her  living  with  her  needle  ? 

A  consideration  that  had  been  afflicting 
him  for  some  time  was  that  this  return, 
this  ineffably  blissful  dream  of  revisiting 
Antibes  in  company  with  Madeleine  and 
his  mother,  appeared  to  him  as  a  distant 
probability,  which,  instead  of  coming 
nearer,  was  constantly  receding ;  of  a  truth, 
the  realization  of  his  dream  seemed  to  be 
becoming  more  and  more  problematical ; 


JEAN  BEEFY,  SAILOR  217 

it  appeared  as  if  it  were  doomed  to  die  a 
lingering  death  beneath  all  that  unfriendly 
verdure,  in  that  air  overloaded  with  per- 
fumes, under  that  incessant  warm  rain. 
And  one  day  he  suddenly  felt  himself 
assailed  by  a  sharp  pang  of  anguish — the 
same  anguish  that  he  had  already  before 
experienced,  of  exile  and  anaemia,  only 
aggravated — at  the  thought  that  Madeleine 
was  nineteen  years  old,  and  that  believing, 
as  she  had  doubtless  believed  for  the  last 
ten  or  twelve  months,  that  he  had  deserted 
her,  she  might  well  have  bestowed  her 
affections  on  another.  And  then — presto ! 
he  had  jumped  at  the  decision  that  had 
been  resting  in  his  mind  half -formed  since 
he  left  France — with  feverish  anxiety  to 
catch  the  mail  on  the  steamer  that  was 
soon  to  pass,  he  had  sat  down  and  written 
to  his  mother  and  to  Madeleine's  father. 

He  begged  his  mother  to  put  herself 
immediately  in  communication  with,  the 
parents,  and  request  in  form  for  him  the 
hand  of  the  object  of  his  love. 


XLI 

AND  her  boy's  letter  was  so  prettily 
affectionate,  so  irresistibly  appealing,  that  she 
had  made  haste  to  comply  with  his  request 
and  write,  notwithstanding  the  feeling  of 
terror  that  she  experienced  at  thought  of 
that  low-born  girl  arising  so  unexpectedly 
between  her  and  him,  and  entailing  the 
ruin  of  all  their  hopes  and  irreparable  dis- 
grace and  loss  of  caste. 

It  is  true  that  the  letter  which  she  wrote 
was  couched  in  such  terms  as  a  lady  uses, 
that  is,  it  was  such  a  letter  as  those  to 
whom  it  was  addressed  should  consider 
themselves  honored  by  receiving,  but  the 
main  point  was  that  in  it  she  formally 
requested  Madeleine's  hand  for  her  son,  who 
was  expected  home  in  six  months'  time. 
After  it  was  dispatched,  commencing  with 
the  following  morning,  she  watched  each 

218 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  219 

day  with  impatient  eagerness  for  the  arrival 
of  the  postman,  wishing  and  hoping  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  that  this  Madeleine  might 
be  married,  or  have  left  the  country,  or 
have  died,  or  done  anything  that  might 
effect  a  riddance  of  her. 


XLII 

THE  following  week  an  answer  carne, 
written  on  thin,  coarse  paper,  such  as  poor 
people  use,  by  the  hand  of  a  woman  unac- 
customed to  hold  the  pen — the  hand  of  the 
other  mother,  evidently ;  a  curt,  diy,  scorn- 
ful answer,  comprising  only  a  few  lines. 

Madeleine's  parents  "  believed  that  they 
remembered  something  "  of  that  young  man 
who  had  behaved  so  disrespectfully  toward 
their  daughter.  But  it  was  as  good  as  set- 
tled that  she  was  to  marry  a  paymaster's 
clerk  in  the  navy ;  she  herself  "  didn't  see 
any  great  objection"  to  the  match,  and 
hence  it  had  not  been  thought  best  to 
inform  her  of  this  new  offer.  And  in  addi- 
tion to  that,  her  means  would  not  allow  her 
to  marry  one  no  better  off  than  a  quarter- 
master. 

And  behold,  Jean's  mother,  instead  of 
220 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  221 

experiencing  that  sensation  of  gratification 
and  delight  that  she  had  anticipated  from 
a  refusal,  was  not  only  wounded,  but  was 
grieved  and  saddened  to  the  bottom  of  her 
soul ;  that  her  son,  her  dearly  beloved  son, 
should  be  refused  in  such  terms,  when  he 
had  made  the  offering  of  his  life ! 

Brooding  over  the  matter  as  she  did 
night  and  day,  she  at  last  came  to  think 
that  she  could  discern  a  sort  of  fatal  con- 
nection in  all  the  evil  turns  with  which 
destiny  so  malignantly  persisted  in  afflict- 
ing her  Jean.  "Was  he  really  of  so  little 
account,  her  boy,  was  he  fallen  so  low,  that 
a  sewing  girl,  a  daughter  of  common 

o      o       /  o 

people,  should  dismiss  him  thus  ?  What 
a  fall,  my  God  !  what  a  fall,  after  the 
dreams  of  other  days,  the  dreams  that  she 
and  the  poor  old  grandfather,  now  dead 
and  gone,  had  dreamed  over  that  little 
curly  head ! 

Upon  a  second  reading  of  his  letter, 
moreover,  she  saw  that  that  love  of  his  was 
deeply  rooted  in  his  heart,  that  he  would 


222  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

have  to  suffer  profoundly.  Should  sne 
write  and  tell  him  of  his  rejection  ;  should 
she  inflict  that  suffering  on  him,  away  out 
there  in  his  distant  land  of  exile  ?  To 
what  purpose,  since  he  was  to  return  so 
soon  ?  No,  she  would  not  do  it ;  she  would 
pretend  that  the  letter  containing  his 
request  had  not  reached  her  yet,  and  when 
she  came  to  write  him  by  the  next  mail 
would  fill  the  envelope,  the  last  that  was 
to  bear  his  address  on  board  the  Estoc, 
with  whatever  other  matter  she  might 
think  of,  but  not  this. 

And  then,  too,  other  anxieties,  that  she 
had  never  known  before,  presented  them- 
selves to  swell  the  discomfort  arising  from 
that  indignity:  her  Jean  had  had  some 
attacks  of  the  insidious  fever  of  the 
country ;  he  had  not  been  able  to  conceal 
the  fact  from  her  when  he  was  sent  to 
hospital  at  Hanoi.  In  the  house  that  she 
lived  in  at  Brest  there  were  other  seamen's 
families,  and  not  very  long  before  she  had 
witnessed  the  home -coming,  from  those 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  223 

colonies,  of  two  little  sailor  lads,  scarcely 
more  than  boys,  whose  letters  had  not  inti- 
mated that  they  were  seriously  ill,  but 
whose  frightful  looks  seemed  to  indicate 
that  they  had  not  long  to  live.  Never  had 
she  felt  herself  so  deserted,  so  alone  with 
her  distress,  that  a  sentiment  of  supersti- 
tious terror  deterred  her  from  confiding  to 
other  women  who  were  mothers.  Sombre 
forebodings,  a  chilling,  icy  gloom  descended 
and  enwrapped  her,  like  the  folds  of  a 
funeral  pall.  Prayer  !  the  thought  of  it 
occurred  to  her  from  time  to  time,  indeed, 
but  she  could  not  pray.  During  her  earlier 
years  she  had  been  devout ;  her  faith  had 
been  ardent,  impulsive ;  somewhat  of  the 
Italian  nature,  somewhat  idolatrous,  per- 
haps, but  to-day  that  was  all  past  and 
ended,  not  so  much  from  incredulity  as 
from  her  deep-seated  revolt  against  such  an 
accumulation  of  disaster  and  ruined  hopes. 
Between  the  Virgin  who  sat  aloft  in 
heaven,  so  calmly  indifferent,  and  herself, 
so  wretched  and  disconsolate  on  earth,  a 


224  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

veil  had  been  drawn,  and  all  her  adoration 
was  transferred  to  her  boy.  Although  she 
had  continually  before  her  eyes  the  two 
holy  images  that  she  had  brought  with  her 
from  her  Provencal  home  and  fastened  to 
the  wall  of  her  bedchamber,  she  prayed  no 
more.  She  never  crossed  the  threshold  of 
a  church,  but  lived  a  life  of  silent  suffering 
and  revolt,  her  every  faculty  concentrated 
in  the  one  single  persistent,  torturing, 
delicious  occupation  of  waiting. 


XLIII 

AND  Madeleine,  in  the  little  town  where 
doubtless  her  life  will  continue  to  run  on 
monotonously  as  ever,  will  Madeleine,  once 
she  shall  be  married  to  another,  quickly 
forget  her  friend  of  other  days  ? 

Or,  who  can  tell,  will  she  remember? 
in  the  fleeting  succession  of  those  spring- 
times that  in  the  end  will  rob  her  of  her 
fresh  beauty,  as  she  returns  to  her  lowly 
home  in  the  soft  May  twilight,  along  those 
streets  that  wear  the  same  unvarying  aspect, 
through  that  avenue  of  lindens  as  ever 
solitary  and  deserted,  will  she  remember, 
will  she  be  haunted  by  the  memory  of  that 
Jean  whom  she  once  loved,  and  by  his 
image,  reluctant  to  vanish  from  her  heart  ? 
At  the  pleasant,  tranquil  evening  hour,  in 
the  lengthening  shadows  of  the  new  vernal 

225 


226  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

growths,  will  she  once  again  behold  his 
shade,  leaning  against  the  trunks  of  those 
trees  that  are  sempiternally  the  same,  the 
youthful  shade  of  him  she  loved  ?  Who 
shall  say? 


XLIV 

AFTER  plowing  her  way  for  many  a  time 
through  the  hot,  muddy  water  of  the  river 
and  battling  against  its  rapid  currents,  the 
Estoc  was  once  again  at  her  usual  anchorage, 
among  the  reeds,  just  off  the  village  in  the 
wood. 

And  now  the  time  was  come  when  Jean 
was  to  leave  that  country.  On  a  still, 
sultry  evening,  like  that  evening  which 
eighteen  months  before  had  witnessed  his 
arrival  a  strong  and  healthy  man,  he  was 
picking  his  way  with  slow  and  feeble  steps 
toward  a  carriage  that  stood  waiting,  sup- 
ported by  a  brother  sailor,  turning  his 
pallid  face  in  the  direction  of  the  gunboat 
to  bid  farewell  with  nod  and  smile  to  those 
who  were  to  remain. 

Everything  reminded  him  of  the  evening 
of  his  landing ;  the  crepuscular  moment 

227 


228  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

was  the  same,  there  was  the  same  amazing 
brilliancy  of  red  soil  and  lustrous  foliage, 
the  same  odors,  the  same  yellow  natives, 
who,  before  vanishing  within  their  huts 
beneath  the  trees,  turned  for  the  last  time 
their  little  enigmatic,  oblique  eyes  on  him 
who  was  departing.  In  the  odorous,  humid 
atmosphere,  beneath  the  great  oppressive 
trees,  life  was  ever  the  same,  warm  and 
languid,  entirely  different  from  ours.  And 
all  those  objects  that  beheld  Jean's  depart- 
ure seemed  conscious  that  once  more  they 
had  infused  their  poison  into  the  system  of 
someone  from  France. 

Of  late  days,  in  addition  to  the  stubborn 
fever,  that  returned  with  inexorable  regu- 
larity at  stated  intervals,  dysentery  had 
set  in  and  at  once  assumed  its  gravest 
aspect.  This  is  a  disease  whose  course  can 
never  be  predicted  with  any  certainty; 
sometimes  it  selects  the  strong  for  its  vic- 
tims and  passes  by  the  feeble,  and  again 
the  converse  is  the  case ;  sometimes  it  fin- 
ishes its  murderous  work  in  a  few  weeks, 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  229 

sometimes  in  many  years.  Some  return  to 
France  who,  to  all  appearances,  have  es- 
caped scot  free,  but  the  insidious  malady 
is  all  the  time  gnawing  at  their  vitals,  and 
at  the  end  of  ten  years,  or  it  may  be  twenty, 
makes  an  end  of  them ;  while  others,  with 
far  less  power  of  resistance,  on  whom  the 
disease  seems  to  have  taken  a  much  stronger 
hold,  recover,  no  one  can  tell  why. 

Two  of  the  young  men  who  sailed  from 
France  with  Jean  had  died  before  the  first 
year  was  ended.  He  was  leaving  the 
country  a  veiy  sick  man,  his  features  drawn 
and  pinched,  the  skin  of  his  face  like 
parchment ;  the  slightest  effort,  even  the 
attempt  to  walk  a  few  steps,  would  bring 
the  perspiration  in  streams  from  his  limbs 
and  body. 

And  occasionally,  at  his  moments  of 
awakening,  he  had  the  impression — which 
did  not  remain  long  with  him,  it  is  true- 
that  his  return  had  been  too  long  delayed. 


XLV 

AT  Saigon  they  found  a  number  of 
soldiers  and  sailors  of  the  local  station  who 
had  completed  their  time  and  were  await- 
ing an  opportunity  of  returning  to  their 
native  land,  and,  in  addition,  the  entire 
ship's  company  of  the  Circe,  that  had  had 
her  armament  removed  and  was  to  be 
anchored  permanently  in  the  stream. 
Through  motives  of  economy  all  these 
people  were  crowded  on  board  the  Saom, 
an  old-time  sailing  vessel  altered  to  a 
steamer,  that  was  to  return  to  France  by 
the  longer  way  around  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope. 

That  he  might  be  spared  the  passage  of 
the  Red  Sea,  with  its  terrible  debilitating 
heat,  Jean  had  asked  and  obtained  permis- 
sion to  sail  on  board  the  Sddne,  where  he 
would  also  have  the  benefit  of  the  company 

230 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  231 

of  Le  Marec,  Joal,  Kerbhoulis,  all  his  old 
friends  and  messmates  of  the  Resolue  and 
the  Circe. 

These  men,  too,  had  suffered  to  some 
extent  from  the  same  complaint  as  Jean, 
but  far  less. than  he,  and  there  was  now 
scarcely  a  trace  of  it  left  on  them.  This  was 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  for  the  last 
eighteen  months  they  had  been  serving  at 
sea,  while  he,  whose  duties  confined  him  to 
the  streams  and  swamps  of  the  interior, 
had  been  constantly  compelled  to  inhale 
the  poisonous  exhalations  of  the  rank  vege- 
tation. 


XL  VI 

THE  sea  air  was  at  first  beneficial,  and 
hope  returned  to  him.  As  long  as  they 
continued  to  have  the  trade  winds  of  the 
northern  hemisphere  with  them  he  could 
remain  on  deck,  seated  in  the  shade,  inhal- 
ing deep  draughts  of  the  rejuvenating 
breeze,  watching  the  handling  of  the  ship 
and  chatting  with  his  friends. 

O 

But  not  many  days  elapsed  before  they 
entered  the  equatorial  regions,  with  their 
oppressive  calms,  enervating  humidity  and 
drenching  rains.  Then,  notwithstanding 
all  the  tender  care  of  which  he  was  the 
object,  there  ensued  a  sudden  prostration 
which  obliged  him  to  take  to  his  cot  and 
remain  below  in  the  ship's  hospital. 

In  the  beginning  his  feeling  was  that  of 
the  mingled  stupefaction  and  incredulity 

232 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  233 

which  is  experienced  by  the  very  young 
and  very  strong,  who  always  refuse  to  ad- 
mit in  their  own  case  the  possibility  of  the 
malady  terminating  fatally.  While  at  his 
post  on  board  the  Estoc  it  had  seemed  to 
him  that,  once  he  was  out  of  that  Chinese 
sweat-box,  a  few  whiffs  of  bracing  sea  air 
and  the  pleasant  thought  of  being  home- 
ward bound  would  suffice  to  make  him  a 
well  man.  Could  it  really  be  that  his 
return  had  been  too  long  delayed ! 

Mon  Dieu,  how  sluggishly  they  crept 
along,  how  persistently  those  everlasting 
calms  held  on !  Would  the  breeze  never 
spring  up,  would  they  never  light  the  fur- 
nace fires  and  start  the  engines ! 

And  on  waking  one  day  in  the  afternoon, 
heavier  of  head  and  more  anguished  at 
heart  than  usual,  from  an  unrefreshing 
slumber,  the  truth  presented  itself  to  him 
in  all  its  appalling  nakedness ;  he  saw  how 
it  was  with  him,  and  with  the  knowledge 
came  a  spasm  of  horror  and  dismay,  as  if 
before  him  he  had  beheld  a  fathomless 


234  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

abyss  of  night  and  blackness  into  which  he 
was  on  the  point  of  falling — 

His  old  comrades  of  the  Resolue  often 
came  and  sat  by  his  bedside,  especially  Le 
Marec  and  Joal,  who  devoted  to  him  every 
moment  that  they  could  snatch  from  their 
duties.  He  loved  them  both  tenderly,  he 
thanked  them,  and  would  sometimes  display 
an  interest  in  their  attempts  to  cheer  him ; 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  brought  with 
them  in  their  coarse  garments  a  wholesome 
breath  of  the  fresh  air  above.  But  how 
little  did  ties  like  these  count  for  as  the 
great  end  drew  near  !  Ah,  no ;  it  was  the 
mother  in  whom  all  love  and  affection 
centred,  who  was  all  in  all  to  him ;  his 
mother,  upon  whom  he  was  ever  calling 
from  the  depths  of  his  soul,  and  for  whom 
he  yearned  despairingly. 

And  still  no  sign  of  a  breeze !  Still  the 
dead  calm  and  the  stifling  hot,  damp 
atmosphere  in  which  his  strength  was 
wasting,  wasting,  as  in  a  Turkish  bath  too 


JEAN  BEBNT,  SAILOR  235 

long  protracted.  And  at  his  side  were 
other  patients,  gradually  sinking,  little 
soldiers,  mere  boys  not  over  twenty,  con- 
sumed with  dysentery,  with  ashen  faces 
and  frames  of  skeletons.  And  to  these 
sick  men  it  seemed  as  if  their  torment  was 
to  be  protracted  to  infinity,  rocking  thus 
idly  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  ocean,  ad- 
vancing no  step  toward  home. 


XLVII 

the  tenth  day,  however,  in  the  early 
morning  hours,  this  stagnant  condition  of 
affairs  commenced  to  end. 

A  breeze  sprang  up,  so  faint  at  first  as 
barely  to  be  perceptible,  but  freshening  con- 
stantly, and  before  it,  in  a  sky  less  like  a 
brazier,  more  like  our  own,  a  bevy  of  small 
fleecy,  pearl-tinted  clouds  scudded  merrily. 
It  was  warm,  this  breeze,  but  possessed 
such  invigorating  qualities  that  it  seemed 
cool;  through  the  long  wind  sails,  whose 
mouths  yawned  to  receive  it,  it  swept  down- 
ward even  to  the  depths  of  the  ship's  hold, 
to  the  sick  bay  filled  with  feverish  emana- 
tions, where  the  patients  received  it  with  a 
sensation  of  delicious  comfort  and  well- 
being.  It  was  the  southern  trade  wind,  and 
the  sky  was  the  unvarying  sky  of  the 
tropics ;  the  Saone  had  entered  those  regions 

236 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  237 

that  know  no  change,  and  henceforth  the 
same  unfailing  wind  would  urge  her  on- 
ward, night  and  day,  toward  the  Cape. 

Stretched  on  his  cot  away  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ship,  Jean  was  conscious  of  all  that 
was  happening  above  in  the  air  and  sun- 
shine. The  boatswain's  silver  whistle,  that 
had  been  silent  all  through  those  long, 
oppressive  days,  now  piped  its  cheeriest 
strains,  and  the  sick  man's  ear,  more  alert  in 
inactivity,  caught  the  ringing  sounds,  now 
short  and  sharp,  again  drawn  out  in  linger- 
ing accents,  or  modulated  in  birdlike  trills 
and  quavers ;  he  seized  the  meaning  of  each 
different  signal  as  easily  as  he  would  have 
read  a  book  writ  in  a  familiar  language ; 
he  divined  all  that  was  going  on  aloft  upon 
the  great  masts  and  yards,  and  could  have 
told  the  name  of  each  separate  bit  of  can- 
vas as  it  was  set  to  catch  the  favoring  gale. 
Their  speed  increased  with  every  hour,  and 
everything  and  everybody  seemed  pervaded 
by  a  sense  of  lightness ;  even  the  water  of 
the  sea  seemed  lighter,  that  water  that  is 


238  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

oftentimes  so  dense  and  heavy  when  the 
wind  is  adverse  and  there  is  a  head  sea  on ; 
to-day,  ship,  wind  and  sea  were  all  running 
in  the  same  direction,  and  now,  instead  of 
the  great  ugly  waves  that  had  often  dashed 
like  a  battering  ram  against  the  frail  walls 
of  the  sick  bay,  all  that  Jean  heard  was 
the  ripple  of  the  glancing  water,  the  plash 
of  the  flying  spray.  Besides  the  positive 
physical  comfort  that  this  beneficent  wind 
brought  to  those  poor  exhausted  invalids, 
it  also  inspired  them  with  hope,  and  as  the. 
Saone  threw  out  sail  upon  sail  to  the  breeze 
Jean's  eyes,  dreamily  fixed  on  visions  of 
distant  France,  recovered  almost  completely 
the  expression  of  life  that  they  had  lost. 
Oh,  how  good  it  was  to  be  speeding  on- 
ward thus !  Oh,  let  them  hasten,  quick, 
quick !  let  them  fly  like  a  bird  across 
that  wateiy  waste,  whose  terrible  immen- 
sity was  keeping  him  from  his  mother.  If 
but  the  numbered  tale  of  his  days  could  be 
prolonged  a  little ;  if  he  could  but  live  six 
or  seven  weeks  more  in  that  friendlier  air 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  239 

that  was  already  restoring  to  him  his 
strength ! — mon  Dieu,  one  can  never  tell, 
with  these  strange  complaints,  that  often 
last  longer  than  one  thinks.  Only  six  or 
seven  weeks  more,  and  they  would  be  at 
their  voyage's  end  !  And  it  came  to  appear 
to  him  more  and  more  a  possibility,  almost 
a  certainty,  indeed,  that  he  was  again  to 
behold  their  poor  abode  at  Brest,  that  he 
loved  now  with  all  his  heart,  and  to  clasp 
his  mother  in  his  arms,  and  have  her  at  his 
bedside  to  hold  his  hands  in  hers  at  the 
last,  dread  hour. 

As  evening  was  descending,  at  that 
pleasant  moment  succeeding  the  setting  of 
the  sun,  an  irresistible  impulse  seized  him ; 
he  felt  better,  ever  so  much  better,  and  so 
from  his  sick-bed  he  arose  to  go  and  mingle 
with  the  living  who  were  up  there  on  deck, 
breathing  the  pure,  cool  air ;  having  bathed 
his  face  in  cold  water  and  put  on  a  clean 
suit  of  duck,  he  started  on  his  upward 
journey,  dragging  himself  laboriously  up 


240  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

the  long  ladders,  like  a  phantom  in  the 
semi-darkness.  His  great  strength,  that 
had  been  his  sole  terrestrial  possession,  had 
deserted  him ;  still,  in  the  stout  topman's 
arms,  where  the  muscles  had  stood  out  in 
great  knots  and  bunches  once,  there  was 
a  remnant  of  pith  that  disease  had  not 
destroyed  entirely,  and  he  used  it  to  hoist 
himself  up,  hanging  on  grimly  to  each 
round  of  the  ladder,  while  his  legs,  first  to 
give  out,  weakened  under  the  weight  of 
his  body. 

At  last  his  head  emerged  into  the  open 
air.  As  if  arising  from  the  tomb  he  gazed 
around  him,  feasting  his  charmed  eyes  with 
the  view  of  surrounding  space,  the  belly- 
ing sails,  the  deep  sky  in  which  the  stars 
were  beginning  to  appear. 

The  Saone  was  flying  like  some  great 
white-winged  bird  of  night  before  the 
austral  trade  wind.  The  good  ship,  speed- 
ing onward  and  restoring  vanished  hopes ! 
And  as  Jean  raised  his  head  alcove  the 
companionway,  the  first  breath  of  welcome 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  241 

air  that  reached  him  also  brought  to  his 
ears  a  joyful  and  familiar  sound:  a  song 
that,  barely  audible  below,  up  there  seemed 
suddenly  to  swell  and  burst  in  triumphant 
salutation  of  his  re-appearance  among  his 
brother  sailors.  It  was,  as  ever,  the  inevi- 
table "Old  Neptune,"  the  same  old  light, 
catchy  chorus  that  had  been  sung  over  and 
over  again  at  the  same  evening  hour.  And 
the  Sa-one  went  pressing  onward  into  the 
infinite  solitude  of  silence,  that  was  scarcely 
disturbed  by  the  gentle  ripple  of  the  water 
beneath  her  bow,  scattering  upon  the  still- 
ness of  the  night  the  joyous  sounds,  leaving 
behind  her  a  trailing  wake  of  melody,  that 
was  lost  and  wasted  for  that  there  was  no 
ear  to  hear  it. 

When  Jean's  eyes,  long  unaccustomed  to 
the  spectacle,  had  renewed  acquaintance 
with  the  immensity  of  sea  and  sky,  they 
turned  to  the  towering  edifice  of  canvas 
that,  spread  to  catch  every  breath  of  wind, 
was  urging  the  vessel  onward  upon  her 
course:  a  tall,  fantastic  structure,  snow- 


242  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

white  against  the  diaphanous  blue  of  night, 
that  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  expanse  of 
air  and  pierce  the  heavens  with  its  unstable 
fabric,  unreal  and  unsubstantial  as  a  vision. 
White,  too,  were  the  singers  in  their  linen 
garments ;  some  stretched  on  the  white 
planks  in  every  attitude  of  repose  and 
well-being,  others  grouped  in  form  of  pyra- 
mid on  the  ship's  boats  that  occupied  the 
central  portion  of  the  deck,  and  others 
still,  higher  and  more  distant,  clustered  on 
the  bridge.  "  Old  Neptune,  Monarch  of 
the  Seas,"  sang  the  choristers,  motionlessly 
reclining  in  the  starry  splendor  of  the 
night.  The  sprightly  refrain  of  the  song 
returned  incessantly,  taken  up  nonchal- 
antly, as  in  a  semi-slumberous  state,  by 
fresh  young  vibrating  voices,  so  modulated 
as  not  to  dissipate  a  pleasant  dream.  And 
all  this  edifice  of  white  sails  and  men  in 
white  pressed  onward,  careening  and  bow- 
ing gently  to  the  breeze,  like  some  fantas- 
tic thing  soon  to  be  swallowed  up  in  dark- 
ness; pressed  onward  ever,  quicker  and 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  243 

more  quickly  still,  racing,  flying  through 
the  transparent  night,  with  soothing,  softly 
swaying  motion,  and  occasionally  a  little 
bump,  like  a  universally  pervasive  thrill 
of  joy. 

The  poor  fugitive  from  below  decks, 
upon  whom  Death  had  already  laid  his 
finger,  wondered  at  this  display  of  fairy- 
land, so  long  unseen  by  him  as  almost  to 
be  forgotten.  All  that  made  a  sailor's  life 
so  entrancing  to  him,  all  that  he  loved  so 
in  his  profession,  was  on  this  last,  supreme 
occasion  displayed  with  the  utmost  of 
spectacular  effect  before  his  eyes,  that  soon 
would  see  no  more.  Charmed  and  dazzled, 
with  an  ardent  longing  that  he  might  live 
as  long  as  they,  the  young  comrades  who 
surrounded  him,  he  came  forward,  very 
weak,  his  strength  all  gone,  with  a  dizzi- 
ness that  became  more  pronounced  at  each 
succeeding  moment,  seeking  among  all  those 
white  forms  the  friendly  group  where  Marec 
and  Joal  were,  that  he  might  once  again,  as 
of  old,  take  his  place  among  them. 


244  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

They  were  there,  close  at  hand,  and 
because  they  had  recognized  him  they 
hushed  their  song ;  they  looked  upon  his 
face,  where  a  brief  time  had  wrought  such 
a  startling  change,  where  the  pallor  and 
emaciation  were  even  more  strongly 
marked  in  the  dim  vague  light  of  even- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  my  boy  ! "  said  Marec — 
one  of  those  elderly  personages  who  play 
the  part  of  heavy  father  on  shipboard,  who 
assume  patronizing  airs  by  reason  of  their 
massive  squareness  of  build  and  sun-burnt 
faces,  and  whose  age  may  range  anywhere 
between  thirty  and  thirty-five. 

"  Make  room  there,  you  fellows ;  make 
room  for  Berny." 

Around  him  silence  reigned  while  his 
friends  were  arranging  a  little  nook  where 
he  might  be  comfortable,  but  a  few  steps 
away  the  chorus  went  on  uninterruptedly, 
with  unabated  spirit  and  the  same  careless, 
insouciant  swing.  A  piece  of  sailcloth  was 
brought  and  folded  twice  across  as  a  pro- 


\ 

JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  245 

tection  for  Iris  wasted  limbs  against  the 
hard  planks,  and  he  yielded  himself  pas- 
sively to  the  arms  that  were  extended  to 
assist  him,  for  his  strength  had  entirely 
deserted  him,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a 
sort  of  trembling  sensation  coming  over 
him,  an  evil  and  sinister  presage. 

"  Lean  on  me,"  "  Here's  a  cushion  for 
you,"  said  those  nearest  him,  offering 
their  breast  or  shoulder  as  a  support  for 
the  death-stricken  man.  And  when  they 
had  assured  his  comfort  they  struck  into 
"  Old  Neptune "  again,  coming  in  on  the 
refrain,  and  Jean  found  himself  in  the 
midst  of  the  tuneful  band,  experiencing 
a  momentary  sensation  of  comfort — or 
rather  of  diminished  suffering — by  reason 
of  his  recumbent  position.  With  head 
thrown  back  and  half-closed  eyes,  his 
delighted  gaze  took  in  the  entire  fairy- 
like  display,  from  the  trucks  of  the  tall 
masts  down  to  the  snowy  deck.  Rocked 
lazily  by  the  slow,  uniform  motion  of  the 
gentle  swells,  those  groups  of  humanity, 


246  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

motionless  and  white  as  statues  of  marble, 
were  painted  on  the  dim  blue  curtain  of 
the  night  with  the  vague  indistinctness  of 
figures  in  a  dream,  and  against  the  sky, 
decked  with  the  blazing  jewels  of  the 
southern  constellations,  were  outlined  the 
lofty  masts  and  phantom-like  white  sails, 
that,  as  they  swayed  under  the  impulse 
of  the  ever-freshening  breeze,  described 
with  their  summits  wider  arcs  among  the 
stars,  but  swayed  so  gently  and  with  a 
movement  so  regular  and  uniform  that  one 
might  have  thought  it  was  the  heavenly 
bodies  that  had  suddenly  lost  their  immo- 
bility and  were  performing  a  stately  minuet 
on  high.  And  all  the  time  the  singers 
were  casting  to  the  bland  wind  their  clear 
sparkling  notes,  that  seemed  to  fly  away 
on  wings.  In  the  midst  of  this  transpar- 
ency, for  which  there  was  no  name,  the 
transparency  of  night  without  its  obscurity, 
that  vessel,  careening  under  her  cloud  of 
canvas,  her  deck  filled  with  all  those 
motionless  white  mariners,  ceased  to  have 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  247 

the  aspect  of  reality.  The  music,  that  con- 
tinuous monotone  of  fresh  young  voices, 
soothing  as  a  lullaby,  and  the  uninterrupted 
gentle  oscillatory  motion  communicated  to 
all,  aud  their  flight,  rapid  and  easy  as  a 
bird's,  all  served  to  add  to  and  intensify 
the  impression  of  immateriality  that  was 
conveyed  by  things  visible  and  tangible. 
The  whole  display  might  have  been  taken 
for  some  unsubstantial,  melodious  pageant 
that  the  trade  wind  was  urging  onward  to 
some  non-existent  haven,  in  those  limitless, 
shoreless  regions,  the  realm  of  the  infinitely 
void. 

But  not  for  long  did  Jean  continue  to 
behold  the  magic  spectacle  that  filled  his 
already  enfeebled  brain  with  wonder.  The 
delicious  coolness  of  the  night,  that  to  the 
others  brought  health  and  strength,  in  him 
only  served  to  hasten  the  process  of  mortal 
disorganization.  A  vague  feeling  of  dis- 
comfort began  to  manifest  itself  in  his  chest, 
limbs  and  bowels,  and  developed  rapidly 
into  acute  pain.  Then  his  legs  and  arms 


248  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

became  heavy  as  lead  and  lost  their  power 
of  movement,  as  in  one  who  had  remained 
too  long  in  a  constrained  position,  and  the 
sensation  spread,  and  kept  spreading,  first 
to  the  loins,  then  to  the  chest  and  larynx. 
It  was  like  a  slow,  progressive  death,  ascend- 
ing gradually  toward  the  head,  that  was 
lucid  still  and  retained  its  faculty  of  thought. 
It  reached  his  lips,  and  they  contracted 
spasmodically,  and  when  he  would  have 
called  for  assistance  on  his  friends,  who  had 
not  ceased  their  song,  his  tight-locked  mouth 
would  not  respond:  the  only  sound  he 
could  give  utterance  to  was  an  inarticulate 
moan,  distressful  to  hear. 

The  sailors  were  alarmed  by  that  sinister 
cry,  which  seemed  to  be  wrested  from  the 
very  depths  of  his  being.  Marec,  bend- 
ing tenderly  over  him,  saw  the  writhing 
contraction  of  the  lips  and  the  look  of  sup- 
plication  in  his  eyes.  Then  with  infinite 
precaution  and  the  affectionate  words  of 
loving  brothers,  three  of  them  took  him  in 
their  strong  arms,  bore  him  down  the  lad- 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  249 

der,  and  laid  him  on  his  bed.  And  now, 
unconscious  of  all  that  was  going  on  around 
him,  helpless  as  a  little  child,  he  lay  in  the 
warm  infirmary,  that  on  shipboard  was 
called  the  "death  trap." 


XL  VIII 

HE  did  not  die  that  night,  however. 
Down  below,  in  the  "  death  trap,"  the  doc- 
tor brought  him  back  to  life. 

For  several  days  he  lived  with  scarcely 
any  other  companions  than  his  thoughts, 
moments  of  hope  alternating  with  others  of 
chill  despair  at  the  prospect  of  his  solitary 
death.  He  observed  the  doctor's  direc- 
tions with  scrupulous  care,  in  the  one  sole 
thought  that  had  come  to  dominate  him 
more  and  more,  to  last  long  enough  to  see 
his  mother  once  again.  Each  day  there 
was  to  be  seen  lying  on  his  bed  a  poor  pit- 
iful letter  that  he  had  begun  to  write  her  ; 
a  letter  of  farewell  that  he  had  commenced 
when  the  fever  was  on  him,  and  into  which 
he  infused  all  his  soul ;  then  exhaustion 
would  supervene  and  compel  him  to  lay 
down  the  pen,  and  afterward,  in  a  moment 

250 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  251 

of  returning  hope  or  of  determination  not 
to  die,  he  would  tear  the  sheet  in  frag- 
ments. His  chest — a  box  of  white  pine, 
such  as  all  sailors  own — stood  at  his  bed's 
head,  containing  many  precious  little  ob- 
jects, the  thought  of  abandoning  which 
grieved  him  inexpressibly  :  portraits  and 
letters  of  that  mother  whom  he  so  yearned 
to  see  once  more,  many  of  them  very  old 
and  yellow  with  age,  most  of  them  having 
some  connection  with  circumstances  more 
or  less  memorable  of  their  past ;  and  there 
were  also  two  of  the  note-books  of  his  old 
college  days,  in  which,  on  an  evening  when 
the  sunshine  and  his  dreams  alike  were 
bright,  he  had  inscribed  the  date  when 
he  became  an  eligible  candidate  for  the 
Sorda. 

He  suffered  little,  but  was  terribly  weak, 
with  a  growing  weakness  for  which  there 
was  no  remedy.  His  fitful  slumbers  were 
disturbed  by  dreams,  and  he  would  awake 
to  find  himself  lying  drenched  in  a  cold 
night  sweat.  Evidences  of  approaching  ais- 


252  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

solution  had  begun  to  manifest  themselves 
in  his  brain :  pitiable  hallucinations,  delus- 
ive ideas,  and  affections  of  boyhood  that 
returned  to  mock  him.  His  thoughts  re- 
verted constantly  to  matters  connected  with 
the  beginning  of  his  life,  and  he  recalled 
them  with  a  morbid  fidelity  and  intensity 
that  was  almost  like  second  sight.  On  the 
other  hand,  images  of  women  and  of  love 
had  ceased  to  trouble  him  ;  for  some  inscru- 
table reason,  doubtless  a  physical  one  diffi- 
cult of  explanation,  these  images  had  been 
the  first  to  die,  in  his  memory  that  was  also 
about  to  perish.  Forgotten  now  was  that 
young  maid  of  Rhodes,  who,  every  evening 
during  one  blight  month  of  June,  had  come 
down  the  hills  to  meet  him  at  the  old 
deserted  harbor,  attracted  by  the  velvety 
softness  of  his  young  eyes ;  forgotten,  the 
fair  Canadian,  who  for  a  time  had  made 
very  dear  to  him  a  certain  lonely  street  in 
the  outskirts  of  Quebec  ;  forgotten,  all  for- 
gotten. Of  Madeleine  alone  did  he  think 
occasionally,  because  for  her  his  love  had 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  253 

been  of  a  more  complex  nature,  more  closely 
associated  with  the  mystery  of  that  inner 
human  entity  which  we  call  the  soul ;  he 
had  glimpses  still  of  her  pale  face  and  ar- 
dent, deep-set  young  eyes,  or  seemed  to 
hear  the  sound  of  her  timid  voice  in  mur- 
mured conversation  at  the  twilight  hour, 
under  the  flowering  lindens,  beneath  the 
new-born  leaves  on  which  came  pattering 
down  the  warm  rain  of  an  April  evening. 
But  he  did  not  linger  on  the  picture  long, 
turning  from  it  to  his  mother,  to  his  loved 
sunny  land  of  Provence,  to  his  own  child- 
hood's days — and  especially  to  the  days  of 
his  first  assuming  man's  attire,  of  the  little 
brown  hat  with  the  velvet  ribbon.  And 
unspeakable  grief  and  despair  would  wring 
his  heart  at  the  sudden  thought  that  never, 
never  again  would  his  eyes  behold  certain 
localities  in  that  country,  certain  things 
pertaining  to  that  time — at  the  thought,  for 
instance,  that  he  should  nevermore  tread 
a  certain  path,  at  a  bend  in  which  he  and 
his  mother  had  sat  down  to  rest  beneath 


254  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

the  pines,   on   a   Sunday  evening,  in  the 
springtime,  long  ago. 

"He  will  last  until  the  cold  weather 
comes,"  the  doctor  said.  And  he  was 
right ;  the  trade  wind,  that  blew  through 
the  open  hatches  and  down  the  wind  sail, 
the  warm,  soft  trade,  that  varied  not  by 
day  or  night,  held  him  in  a  stationary  con- 
dition. 


XLIX 

BUT  one  evening  an  immense,  dirty-look- 
ing gray  cloud  rose  above  the  southern 
horizon,  and,  creeping  up  the  heavens,  soon 
formed  an  impenetrable  vault  of  blackness 
over  all.  And  the  wind  that  had  so  long 
favored  them  died  away,  and  in  the  air, 
that  suddenly  became  chill  and  piercing, 
two  great  albatrosses,  the  first  they  had 
seen,  appeared — denizens  of  the  sombre 
austral  laud.  In  the  fading  light  and  in 
the  penetrating  mist  that  descended  and 
enwrapped  the  men  as  in  an  icy  mantle,  it 
was  too  dangerous  a  business  to  attempt  at 
nightfall  to  penetrate  further  into  those  ill- 
known  seas,  overspread  by  that  dense  veil 
of  clouds,  and  where  everything  was  to 
be  feared  from  the  fickle  and  uncertain 
weather. 

255 


256  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

The  next  morning  the  entire  aspect  of 
things  was  changed  on  board  the  Saone,  on 
which  the  sun  had  ceased  to  shine.  Straw 
hats  were  replaced  by  old  fatigue  caps, 
that  were  pulled  well  down  to  protect  the 
ears;  the  spruce  uniforms  of  clean  white 
duck  were  discarded  for  old  blue  woolen 
suits,  worn  and  faded,  which  showed  that 
the  industrious  moth  and  voracious  cock- 
roach had  been  at  work  on  them.  On 
deck  there  were  signs  of  great  activity 
among  the  watch  whose  turn  of  duty  it 
was.  Brand  new  sails  were  coming  up 
from  below,  folded  in  long  cylindrical 
bundles  and  supported  on  the  shoulders  of 
wavering,  staggering  rows  of  men.  Cables 
of  a  tawny  color,  new,  like  the  sails,  and 
redolent  of  tar,  were  taken  from  the  hold. 
As  they  were  released  from  the  coils  a  gang 
of  sailors  would  seize  the  free  end,  and, 
starting  on  a  run,  "  snake  "  them  the  ship's 
length,  like  endless  serpents.  Everything 
was  done  to  the  sound  of  the  boatswain's 
whistle,  and  the  shrill  calls,  trills  and 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  257 

quavers  resounded  unintermittently  on  the 
sharper  air,  which  was  beneficial  to  sound 
lungs,  but  mortal  to  weaker  ones.  Pre- 
parations were  being  made  for  the  coming 
conflict  with  wind  and  waves  in  that  inhos- 
pitable, treacherous  zone. 

The  two  albatrosses  came  very  near, 
wheeling  in  wide  circles  around  the  ship ; 
they  were  the  same  that  had  appeared  the 
night  before,  and  likely  as  not  would  con- 
tinue for  weeks  to  follow  in  the  vessel's 
wake ;  and  they  maintained  an  incessant 
scream  in  their  vile,  raucous  voice,  which 
resembles  nothing  so  much  as  the  creaking 
of  a  rusty  weathercock  or  unoiled  pulley. 
And  the  quartermaster  at  the  wheel,  not 
appreciating  their  lugubrious  music,  shook 
his  fist  at  the  birds  and  addressed  them 
thus : 

"  I  say  there,  you  two  great  dirty  spar- 
rows over  yonder,  don't  you  think  you 
might  as  well  grease  your  pulley  a 
bit." 

The  truth  was  that  the  two  albatrosses 


258  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

seemed   to  him   to   be  singing   someone's 
death  song. 

The  gale  was  prompt  with  its  onset, 
commencing  hostilities  before  the  prepara- 
tions for  defense  were  completed.  By  the 
evening  of  the  second  day  the  fearful 
bellowing  of  the  storm  filled  the  air  with 
its  all-powerful  voice  and  the  din  was 
deafening.  The  waves  reared  their  mighty 
crests  and  came  forward  to  the  attack 
in  long,  serried  line  of  battle.  And  the 
sailors  were  aloft  in  the  rigging  or  out  on 
the  plunging  yards,  performing  their  duties, 
so  fraught  with  danger.  The  poor  rough, 
horny  hands  and  the  stubby  nails  worn 
down  to  the  quick  rasped  and  scraped  on 
the  refractory,  water-soaked  canvas  as  they 
gathered  in  the  slack  of  the  topsails,  that 
were  all  reduced  to  a  single  reef.  And 
faces  took  on  a  deeper  shade  of  purple 
under  the  influence  of  the  stinging  cold, 
to  which  they  had  so  long  been  unaccus- 
tomed. 

In  the  "  death  trap,"  that  was  kept  her- 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  259 

rnetically  closed,  the  motion  was  painfully 
apparent  to  the  patients  as  the  ship  alter- 
nately climbed  laboriously  to  the  summit 
of  some  hug^e  wave  and  then  slid  oft*  with 

o 

frightful  velocity  into  the  depths  of  the 
succeeding  valley ;  the  two  men  who  had 
been  so  ill  were  released  from  their  suffer- 
ing on  the  following  night. 

Jean  appeared  to  be  in  the  last  extrem- 
ity of  fever,  but  he  continued  to  live  on, 
with  alternations  of  wild  delirium  and 
deepest  prostration,  in  which  his  reduced 
pulse  and  scarcely  perceptible  breathing 
counterfeited  death. 

Oh,  that  letter,  the  letter  for  his  mother, 
which  he  had  not  written  !  That  was  now 
his  all-engrossing  preoccupation,  not  very 
clearly  defined  at  times,  but  always  present 
to  his  mind,  even  in  slumber — and  so 
piteous,  so  pathetic !  In  his  moments 
between  sleeping  and  waking  he  con- 
stantly imagined  that  he  was  writing  to 
her ;  it  seemed  to  him  he  could  see  a  sheet 
of  paper  on  the  bed,  the  pen  held  in  his 


260  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

fingers,  and  the  characters  traced  by  his 
hand,  telling  her  of  his  distress  and  bidding 
her  farewell.  And  then,  awaking  with  a 
start,  he  would  see  that  it  was  all  a  delusion 
of  his  senses,  that  his  hand  was  hanging, 
heavy  and  inert,  at  his  bedside,  that  there 
was  no  sheet  traced  with  written  characters 
before  him  on  his  counterpane.  Then  in 
his  despair  he  would  toss  himself  violently 
about  upon  his  cot,  beseeching  the  attend- 
ants to  give  him  writing  materials.  They 
answered  him  as  little  children  are  an- 
swered : 

"Yes,  yes;  pretty  soon,  in  a  few 
moments.  As  soon  as  the  fever  goes  down 
a  little  you  shall  have  your  inkstand  and 
your  box." 

And  the  nurses  exchanged  a  sorrowful 
look  of  compassion.  What  they  did  not 
tell  him  was  that,  in  one  of  the  ship's  more 
violent  lurches,  his  precious  box  had  rolled 
to  the  deck  and  been  dashed  in  pieces,  at 
the  same  instant  that  a  great  wave  came 
on  board,  carrying  all  before  it  and  flooding 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  261 

every  compartment  of  the  vessel ;  and  that 
the  beloved  objects,  saturated  with  water 
of  the  ocean  and  fetid  bilgeAvater,  were 
nothing  but  a  pitiful  mass  of  pulp :  letters, 
portraits,  and  the  poor  note-books  of  the 
schoolboy,  between  whose  pages  rested, 
buried  forever  in  oblivion  now,  his  cher- 
ished hopes  of  admission  to  the  Borda. 

Poor  child,  whom  nature  had  destined 
for  a  life  of  insouciance  and  perennial 
youth,  for  love  and  dreamy  reverie,  for  joy- 
ous health  and  the  bright  smile  of  gladness, 
he  preserved  to  the  end  that  boyishness 
which  had  been  his  charm,  and  also  his 
curse.  And  yet  at  certain  moments  he  was 
one  of  those  seers  whose  gift  of  second 
sight  enables  them  to  look  into  futurity 
and  read  the  frightful  secrets  of  the  infinite. 

O 

But  it  was  as  a  child,  with  childish  revolts 
and  incredulity  and  wonder,  that  he  was  to 
face  the  conqueror,  Death ;  longing  above 
all  else  to  have  his  mother  by  to  soothe 
him  with  her  presence.  His  soul  went  out 
to  her  in  ineffable  impulses  of  tenderness, 


262  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

he  had  a  sensation  of  heartfelt  remorse  for 
having  at  times  been  somewhat  forgetful  of 
her,  for  having  sometimes  caused  her  to 
suffer  in  those  days  when  life  was  exuber- 
ant within  him.  Ah,  the  sweet  letters  of 
tears  and  penitence  that  he  had  in  mind  to 
write  her!  In  the  beyond,  the  hereafter, 
he  placed  no  belief,  for  in  this  respect,  as  in 
so  many  others,  he  was  a  sailor.  Seamen 
are  not  atheists;  they  pray,  they  make 
offerings  to  the  Virgin  and  the  saints,  but 
with  puerile  inconsistency  they  seldom  be- 
lieve in  the  existence  of  their  ovvn  soul 
beyond  this  life.  And  he,  too,  prayed,  in 
a  confused  way,  and  his  crude  but  ardent 
prayers  only  asked  that  his  body  might 
not  be  surrendered  to  the  deep,  that  he 
might  be  permitted  to  live  yet  for  a  brief 
while,  that  it  might  he  granted  him  to 
die  in  a  certain  poor  bedchamber,  in  a  cer- 
tain bed  covered  wdth  a  knitted  counter- 
pane, at  the  side  of  which  should  be  a  face 
gentler  than  all  faces  upon  earth,  en- 
framed in  bands  of  soft  gray  hair.  Oh, 


JEAN  BEKNY,  SAILOR  263 

that  it  were  God's  will  that  in  the  cemetery 
of  Brest,  where  soon  they  would  be 
now,  he  might  have  a  grave  at  which  his 
mother  would  come  and  kneel!  And  it 
mio'ht  even  be  that,  when  the  crew  were 

O  ' 

paid  off,  the  money  coming  to  him  would 
be  sufficient  to  transfer  his  body  to  dear 
Provence  and  give  it  sepulture  in  the  soil 
of  his  native  land.  But  no,  it  was  not  to 
be ;  he  felt  that  life  was  leaving  him  too 
fast  and  the  sea  was  to  be  his  grave,  and 
his  eyes  dilated  with  horror  at  the  thought 
that  before  many  days  his  earthly  remains 
would  be  hurled,  wrapped  in  a  shroud  of 
sailcloth,  down,  down  through  the  meas- 
ureless depths  of  the  dark  waste  that  lay 
below. 

At  last  the  final  agony  set  in ;  it  was 
bitter  and  protracted,  but  the  mental  part 
of  him  had  no  share  in  it ;  it  was  wholly 
material.  And  on  the  fourth  day  of  the 
storm,  amid  the  fury  .  of  the  raging,  un- 
chained elements,  when  the  gale  was  at  its 
height  and  its  uproar  filled  the  heavens, 


264  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

death  came  to  him,  almost  unnoticed  by 
his  brother  sailors,  to  whom  self-pres- 
ervation was  the  ruling  instinct  for  the 
time  being,  in  those  hours  of  toil  and 
danger. 


HE  was  committed  to  the  deep,  and  his 
imniersal  passed  as  a  thing  of  minor  con- 
sequence. 

At  break  of  day  on  a  dark,  forbidding 
morning  his  remains,  sewed  in  an  envelope 
of  coarse  duck,  were  laboriously  dragged 
up  the  long  ladders  to  the  deck  by  two 
men,  who  held  their  grisly  burden  by  the 
neck.  "What  has  he  with  him  in  the 
sack  ?  "  one  of  them  asked ;  "  books  ?  " 
It  was  the  note-books  of  the  Borda,  his 
mother's  letters,  the  lid  and  broken  frag- 
ments of  the  box,  everything  that  had  been 
his.  The  man  who  sewed  him  in  his 
shroud — a  humble  soul,  who  had  never 
learned  to  read — had  piously  placed  with 
him,  in  his  coarse  winding  sheet,  all  that 
remained  of  the  things  which  were  so  dear 
to  him.  With  great  difficulty,  on  account 

265 


266  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

of  the  laboring  of  the  vessel,  they  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  him  up  the  ladder,  where, 
with  a  brutality  that  could  not  be  avoided, 
his  unsentient  head  from  time  to  time 
bumped  against  the  projecting  angles  of 
the  woodwork.  By  a  hatchway,  that  was 
opened  furtively  a  little  space  to  give  him 
passage,  he  was  delivered  to  other  waiting 
hands,  that  raised  him  to  the  deck. 

In  the  heavy  weather  then  prevailing 
the  chaplain,  an  aged  and  ailing  man,  was 
unable  to  leave  his  stateroom  to  conduct 
the  burial  service,  and  the  wave-washed 
deck  was  deserted,  save  for  the  watch  and 
the  men  detailed  to  conduct  their  com- 
rade's funeral. 

The  ship  made  a  more  violent  plunge 
than  usual,  and  just  at  that  moment  they 
launched  the  body  into  one  of  those  yawn- 
ing watery  chasms  that  open  and  close 
again  immediately.  A  great  wave,  topped 
with  a  fringe  of  foam,  came  up  and  dashed 
it  against  the  ship's  quarter  with  a  force 
sufficient  to  grind  all  the  bones  to  powder; 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  267 

then  it  vanished  from  mortal  vision,  plung- 
ing swiftly  downward  into  the  realm  of 
silence  and  unending  night,  commencing 
its  infinite  descent  into  the  unfathomed 
depths  below 


LI 

ALMOST  immediately,  as  if  by  magic,  the 
weather  changed.  The  rage  and  fury  of 
the  elements  began  to  subside,  as  they  had 
arisen,  without  apparent  cause.  The  waves, 
with  an  air  of  weariness  and  lassitude  after 
the  conflict,  went  tumbling  over  one  an- 
other as  they  scurried  away  in  disorder, 
their  violence  neutralized  by  the  effect  of  a 
storm  of  more  ancient  date  that  had  been 
raging  in  some  distant  region. 

The  two  albatrosses,  that  had  remained 
invisible  as  long  as  the  gale  lasted,  now 
showed  themselves  again,  accompanied  by 
a  retinue  of  cape-pigeons  and  gray  petrels, 
that  in  squawking,  unnielodious  accents 
proclaimed  their  insatiable  hunger. 

And  the  wind  went  down ;  it  began  to 
be  possible  to  converse  without  raising  the 
voice  to  a  scream ;  the  routine  of  the  ship 

268 


JEAN  BEBNT,  SAILOR  269 

resumed  something  of  its  usual  course  in 
the  comparative  tranquillity,  and  the  covers 
of  the  hatches  were  removed. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  wind  still  continu- 
ing to  fall,  order  was  again  established  in 
almost  every  quarter  of  the  ship.  The 
Sao  tie  once  more  spread  her  snow-white 
wings,  which  had  been  folded  with  such 
difficulty  and  danger,  and  the  sailors  found 
time  to  think  of  him  who  had  departed 
amid  the  crash  and  uproar  of  the  elements. 
Jean's  friends  began  to  reflect  with  feelings 
of  sorrow  and  sadness  on  their  loss.  And 
at  length  came  the  peaceful  evening  hour, 
the  hour  when  the  crew  is  mustered  for 
prayer. 

At  the  usual  order,  given  by  the  officer 
of  the  watch  in  a  curt,  abstracted  tone,  the 
bugle  sounded.  Responsive  to  the  sound 
two  hundred  seamen  came  streaming  up 
from  below,  like  a  rising  tide,  through  the 
narrow  conipanionways,  and  formed  in 
line  upon  the  deck.  A  hundred  to  star- 
board, a  hundred  to  port,  forming  two 


270  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

wavering,  shuffling  masses  of  humanity 
that  undulated  like  a  flock  of  sheep ;  me- 
chanically they  fell  into  line  along  those 
low,  flimsy  bulwarks  which  alone  sepa- 
rated them  from  the  ravening  sea.  They 
were  crowded  so  that  their  shoulders  inter- 
locked, crowded  like  cattle  on  that  frail 
refuge  of  planks  that  they  called  the  Saone, 
and  their  crowding  had  in  it  something 
unutterably  pitiful,  that  spoke  of  man's 
littleness  in  the  midst  of  that  infinite  ex- 
panse of  sea  and  sky,  in  that  debauch  of 
space  that  was  around  them  on  every  side, 
and  where,  in  the  roar  of  the  waves,  in 
the  cry  of  the  sea-birds,  in  everything, 
spoke  the  voice  of  mighty  Death,  the 
conquerer. 

The  chaplain  had  also  come  on  deck  in 
his  black  gown  that  fluttered  in  the  wind. 
And  the  oflicer  in  command,  in  the  same 
sharp,  peremptory  tone  that  he  had  em- 
ployed in  giving  the  other  necessary  com- 
mands, now  ordered :  "  Prayers  ! "  but 
yet  with  more  of  feeling  in  his  voice,  be- 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  271 

cause,  perhaps,  there  arose  in  him  a  memory 
of  the  poor  fellows  whose  names  would  no 
longer  be  carried  on  the  ship's  muster-roll, 
and  of  him  who  had  that  very  morning 
been  offered  as  a  sacrifice  to  greedy  ocean. 
"  Prayers  ! "  The  ship's  bugler,  once 
more  distending  his  cheeks  and  the  veins 
of  his  neck,  as  he  had  done  so  many  times 
before,  gave  to  the  surrounding  outer  void 
that  short,  staccato  call  that  each  evening 
summons  poor  Jack  to  come  and  say  his 
Pater  and  Ave  Maria.  Loud  and  clear 
the  brazen  notes  ransj  out,  on  this  occa- 

O  / 

sion  with  a  strange,  unusual  tone,  over  the 
wild  waste  of  angry  water.  And  the  call 
seemed  somehow  like  an  appeal  to  a 
power  that  was  very  far  away,  or  non- 
existent, before  which  their  supplications 
were  to  be  laid  for  form's  sake,  hopelessly. 
"  Prayers  ! "  At  the  command  two  hun- 
dred calloused  hands  were  swiftly  raised 
to  two  hundred  woolen  caps,  which  fell 
with  a  simultaneous  motion  to  their  owners' 
side,  and  every  man  was  silent  and  motion- 


272  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

less.  And  the  two  hundred  young  heads 
appeared  to  view,  divested  of  their  cover- 
ing, close-clipped,  blond  for  the  most  part, 
shining  with  bright  reflections  in  the  fading 
light  of  evening;  the  brawny  shoulders, 
their  contours  visible  under  the  well-worn 
jackets,  were  closely  pressed  together  in  a 
homogeneous  mass  and  •  swayed  with  a 
gentle  motion  in  unison  with  the  rolling  of 
the  ship. 

"  Our  Father,  which  art  in  Heaven,"  the 
priest  began  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
slightly  and  had  not  its  usual  impassive 
steadiness.  And  thereat  two  or  three  of 
the  younger  and  more  childlike  among  the 
crew  raised  their  eyes  confidingly  to  that 
heaven  of  which  the  good  man  spoke. 
Night  was  beginning  to  draw  her  veil  of 
darkness  over  it,  and  around  them,  while 
the  recitation  of  the  Pater  still  went  on, 
the  petrels  and  albatrosses,  scavengers  of 
the  deep,  lingered  in  the  twilight,  wheeling 
in  wide  circles  with  the  same  hoarse  cries, 
chanting,  in  concert  with  wind  and  ocean, 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  273 

the  chant  of  the  great  transformer  of  our 
being,  the  chant  of  mighty  Death. 

Most  of  the  seamen  had  mechanically 
turned  their  eyes  on  the  black-gowned  man 
while  he  was  praying,  and  now  that  their 
faces  were  no  longer  animated  by  the  care- 
less smile,  it  was  easy  to  read  in  them  their 
long  inheritance  of  toil  and  poverty.  All 
those  young  countenances,  so  hardy  and 
vigorous,  wore  an  aspect  of  hardness  and 
materialism  that  was  intensified  by  the 
fatigue  of  their  laborious  day,  with  an  inde- 
scribable expression  of  humble  resignation 
and  passive  endurance ;  among  the  Bretons, 
whose  numbers  predominated,  traces  of 
their  primitive  semi-barbarism  were  mani- 
fest. It  was  in  the  eyes  alone,  which,  as 
they  were  bent  on  the  priest,  it  could  be 
seen  still  preserved  the  trustful  candor 
of  boyhood,  that  here  and  there  was  indi- 
cated some  tendency  of  their  owner  toward 
things  spiritual,  toward  some  legendary 
paradise,  some  indeterminate,  vague  notion 
of  eternity;  but  there  were  others  that 


274  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

emitted  no  light  from  within,  that  merely 
reflected  the  aspects  of  external  nature, 
whose  owners  paused  at  the  most  rudiment- 
ary conceptions,  scarce  higher  than  the  con- 
fused dreams  of  animals. 

"  I  salute  thee,  Mary  full  of  grace ;  thou 
art  blessed  above  all  women,  and  Jesus, 
the  fruit  of  thy  womb  is  blessed— 
His  accent  was  slower  and  his  intonation 
more  broken  as  he  recited  the  ancient 
prayer ;  at  the  same  time  those  great 
children  who  were  listening  to  his  words 
began  to  manifest  a  sort  of  shame-faced 
sorrow  as  Jean's  memory  rose  to  their 
minds;  those  who  had  known  and  loved 
him  evinced  a  grief  that  was  deep  and 
sincere,  while  in  the  little  group  where 
were  Joal  and  Marec,  who  had  buried  him, 
every  eye  was  moist.  Over  the  heads  of 
all  the  men  who  stood  there  in  line  hovered, 
for  the  last  time,  the  spirit  of  him  who  had 
that  morning  been  committed  to  the  dark 
green  depths  of  ocean. 

"  Holy  Mary,  mother  of  God,  pray  for 


JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR  275 

us '      The  most  inattentive  lent  an  ear 

to  these  words,  that  they  had  heard  a 
hundred  times  before,  which  now  appeared 
fraught  with  new  significance.  And  when 

o  o 

the  chaplain,  after  a  preliminary  pause  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  yet  deeper  solemnity, 
uttered  these  last  words,  so  sublime  in 
their  simplicity :  " — for  us,  poor  sinners— 
now — and  in  our  hour  of  death,"  quick- 
coming  tears  sprang  to  the  eyes  of  two  or 
three  among  the  listening  men  and  rolled 
down  their  cheeks,  like  a  refreshing  shower 
of  rain. 

"Amen!"  The  young  blond  heads  all 
bent  as  when  a  field  of  grain  is  rippled 
by  a  passing  breeze,  a  few  hands  weiw 
swiftly  raised  to  breasts  and  foreheads,  and 
all  was  over ;  the  wind  freshened  with  th« 
approach  of  night,  and  men  began  to  sling 
their  hammocks  amid  an  uproar  of  jests 
and  laughter,  and  thoughtless  gayety 
reigned  again  on  board.  Prayer  and 
thoughts  of  death  seemed  to  be  left  behind 

<j 

in  the  immense,  ever-changing  void  that 


276  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

was  constantly  receding  in  the  distance. 
On  that  vessel  where  his  comrades  had 
beheld  him  die  Jean's  image  was  already 
grown  pale  and  indistinct,  suddenly  thrust 
away  into  the  darkest  corner  of  men's 
memory.  In  their  exuberance  of  animal 
life  those  young  beings  were  quick  to 
forget. 

Out  of  respect  to  him  there  was  no  sing- 
ing that  night,  but  the  next  day  the  song 
"  Old  Neptune,"  started  at  first  by  a  few 
voices,  was  soon  taken  up  and  sung  in 
chorus.  And  as  if  all  on  board  were  as  it 
had  been,  the  Savm  pursued  her  long  and 
weaiy  way  toward  France. 


LII 

IT  was  a  month  later,  on  one  of  those 
April  days,  made  up  of  showers  and  sun- 
shine and  in  which  the  cold  of  winter  lingers 
still,  that  are  so  common  in  Brittany,  when 
the  good  ship  came  to  anchor  in  the  harbor 
of  Brest,  .where  the  anxious  mother  was 
watching  for  her  arrival. 

There  had  been  no  further  sickness  on 
board.  After  Jean,  indeed,  three  other 
unfortunates  had  been  consigned  to  a  grave 
in  the  infinite  waste  of  water,  but  that 
was  away  down  in  the  southern  hemi- 
sphere, in  those  distant  regions  where  the 
albatross  wings  its  solitary  flight.  The 
remainder  of  the  patients  had  recovered, 
and  the  more  bracing  atmosphere  had 
quickly  restored  them  to  a  condition  of 
vigorous  health. 

277 


278  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

All  the  sailors,  even  those  of  them  who 
had  neither  mother,  wife  nor  sweetheart, 
and  for  whose  coming  there  was  no  one  on 
the  lookout,  were  wild  with  joyous  excite- 
ment to  be  at  home  once  more.  When  the 
anchor  was  over  the  bow  and  everything 
made  snug  alow  and  aloft,  there  was  not 
much  of  an  attempt  made  to  enforce  dis- 
cipline, and  things  on  board  were  at  sixes 
and  sevens.  The  officers,  too,  were  only 
human  beings,  and,  like  the  men,  their 
thoughts  were  elsewhere;  knowing  that 
Avhat  had  been  a  long  and  dangerous  service 
was  now  virtually  ended,  they  winked  at 
the  prevailing  want  of  order.  They  had 
no  more  than  entered  the  port  than  disag- 
gregation  commenced ;  it  was  the  begin- 
ning of  the  end ;  the  ship  was  going  out 
of  commission,  involving  the  dispersal  of 
all  those  men  and  inanimate  objects  that 
for  more  than  two  years  had  been  facing 
danger  in  distant  seas,  bound  together  by 
ties  so  close,  having  one  common  name, 
governed  by  one  spirit  of  amour  propre, 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  27D 

forming  one  body  ruled,  it  may  almost  be 
said,  by  a  single  soul. 

The  view  was  a  pleasant  one  upon  the 
whole  that  greeted  their  eyes  on  that  spring 
clay,  in  that  French  roadstead,  after  their 
long  absence,  although  there  was  menace 
of  wind  and  rain  in  the  dark  clouds  that 
hung  low  in  the  humid  atmosphere,  pro- 
pelled by  fitful  gusts  of  air. 

The  health  officer  had  been  sent  for, 
whose  authorization  they  must  have  before 
they  could  communicate  with  the  outer 
world,  with  their  new-recovered  France. 
And  a  few  boats  came  up  and  hung  around 
the  Sabne,  such  unwieldy  and  clumsily 
constructed  affairs  as  pervade  the  waters 
of  Brest,  heavily  sparred  to  meet  the  per- 
petual bad  weather  that  prevails  in  those 
stormy  regions,  with  sails  of  coarse  brown 
canvas,  and  all  of  them  displaying  scars 
that  they  had  received  in  battle  with  their 
enemy,  the  northwester.  The  spectacle 
certainly  lacked  the  cheerful  gayety  of  the 
Mediterranean  ports,  Jean's  native  country, 


280  JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR 

where  hundreds  of  small,  frail  barks, 
bedizened  with  flags  and  painted  in  bright 
colors,  filled  with  laughing,  chattering  men 
and  women,  come  dancing  over  the  tranquil 
water  to  cany  by  storm  the  home-arriving 
vessel. 

In  these  boats,  which  were  made  to  pre- 
serve a  respectful  distance  pending  the 
arrival  of  the  health  officer,  were  women 
with  all  sorts  of  wares  and  merchan- 
dise for  sale,  laundresses,  boarding-house 
keepers,  little  sewing-girls,  all  bent  on 
relieving  poor  Jack  of  a  portion  of  his 
hard-earned  wages ;  and  occasionally,  also, 
a  mother,  a  sister,  or  a  young  person  who 
simply  styled  herself  an  "acquaintance," 
would  call  on  some  particular  sailor  by 
name  and,  when  he  presented  himself  at 
one  of  the  gun-ports,  would  greet  him 
cordially  while  waiting  for  permission  to 
go  on  board  and  give  him  a  warmer  saluta- 
tion. 

Those  of  the  crew  who  were  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  have  no  acquaintances  among 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  281 

the  female  portion  of  Brest's  population 
did  not  allow  that  fact  to  deter  them  from 
using  their  eyes,  but  resting  their  elbows 
on  the  hammock  nettings,  with  faces 
expressive  of  contentment  at  once  more 
beholding  civilized  women's  faces,  ex- 

O  ' 

changed  profound  reflections  on  the  fashion 
of  the  ladies'  attire,  especially  commending 
a  certain  little  corsage  that  had  been 
introduced  during  their  absence. 

By  way  of  killing  time  the  little  group 
of  friends  that  was  so  soon  to  be  dissolved 
forever,  embracing  among  its  numbers 
Joal,  Marec  and  Kerboulhis,  was  collected 
on  the  forecastle,  looking,  laughing,  and 
talking  of  whatever  came  in  their  heads. 

But  all  at  once  Pierre  Joal,  with  a  face 
as  blanched  as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost, 
darted  back,  pulling  the  others  after  him  by 
the  arm  :  "  Jean's  mother  ! ! ! "  And  the 
five  men,  like  frightened  children,  first 
stooped  to  hide  behind  the  nettings,  then, 
bent  almost  double,  retreated  to  the  centre 
of  the  deck  where  they  could  not  be  seen. 


282  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

Jean's  mother !  yes,  it  was  she,  who  had 
coine  forth  from  her  home  and  was  there, 
close  at  the  ship's  side,  with  eager,  ques- 
tioning eyes  dilated  wide,  half  from  joy, 
half  from  alarmed  impatience.  Among  all 
those  smiling  young  faces  that  lined  the 
nettings  of  the  Saone  she  had  sought  her 
boy,  and  had  not  found  him,  had  not 
found  him  yet. 

For  months  she  had  been  looking  for- 
ward to  her  son's  return,  dreaming  of  it  by 
night,  planning  and  preparing  for  it  by 
day;  she  had  done  her  best  to  beautify 
their  humble  little  home,  to  which  they 
both,  however,  because  they  had  lived 
there  together  some  little  space  of  time, 
were  beginning  to  feel  attached,  inasmuch 
as  it  was  beyond  them  to  secure  a  better 
one.  To  his  chamber  in  particular  she  had 
devoted  all  her  loving  care.  By  dint  of 
economy,  patient  toil,  and  her  inherent 
ingenuity  and  good  taste,  she  had  effected 
her  embellishments  without  trenching  on 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  283 

her  little  capital,  which  she  had  placed  out 
at  interest.  And  that  morning,  when  the 
old  watchman,  whom  she  had  engaged  for 
the  service  several  days  before,  came  and 
notified  her  that  the  Saone  was  signaled 

O 

and  would  anchor  in  the  roadstead  in  two 
hours'  time,  she  made  haste  to  put  every- 
thing in  order  about  the  apartment,  went 
out  and  purchased  flowers  for  the  vases, 
and  hired  a  woman  to  come  in  and  cook 
and  serve  the  evening  meal.  Her  attire, 

O  ' 

too,  had  been  a  subject  of  deep  thought 
and  anxiety  to  her ;  as  he  had  it  so  at  heart 
that  she  should  always  be  a  lady  in  exter- 
nals, in  ordering  her  new  hat  she  had  given 
directions  that  it  should  have  a  feather  in 
it — a  vanity  that  she  had  not  indulged 
herself  with  for  the  last  five  years — a  gray 
feather,  of  a  shade  she  felt  sure  would 
please  him.  But  when  she  came  to  dress 
preparatory  to  going  down  to  the  harbor, 
she  hesitated  long,  owing  to  the  unsettled 
condition  of  the  wreather,  whether  or  not 
she  should  wear  that  fine  new  hat  that  she 


284  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

had  bought  to  do  honor  to  their  Sunday 
evening  walks.  She  made  up  her  nrind  to 
put  it  on,  however,  for  the  greater  glory  of 
that  son  who  liked  to  see  her  present  a 
brave  appearance  before  the  other  sailors 
and  the  officers  of  the  ship. 

When,  as  they  left  the  town  behind  them, 
the  boatman  to  whom  she  had  entrusted 
herself  pointed  to  a  ship  in  the  distance 
that  had  barely  got  her  aucher  down,  and 
said  :  "  There  she  is,  your  Saone !  "  a  sud- 
den fit  of  trembling  came  over  her,  with  a 
slight  sensation  of  dizziness. 

How  would  he  look,  what  appearance 
would  her  Jean  present  after  his  long  ab- 
sence? She  felt  that  her  mind  would  not 
be  at  rest  until  her  eyes  had  reassured  her 
on  that  score.  She  thought  of  the  dysen- 
tery and  the  fevers  so  prevalent  in  Cochin 
China,  some  slight  attacks  of  which  he  had 
confessed  to  having  experienced.  And 
suddenly  the  matter  appeared  to  her  in  a 
graver  light  than  it  had  done  before ;  she 
recalled  to  mind  those  young  men  whose 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  285 

return  she  had  witnessed,  so  ghastly  pale, 
their  constitution  gone,  who  slowly  wasted 
away  in  spite  of  their  mothers'  care.  And 
as  the  Saone  drew  nearer  and  her  tall  bul- 
warks towered  high  and  ever  higher  above 
the  short,  tumbling  sea  of  the  open  road- 
stead, she  thought  how  soon  she  was  now 
to  know  the  best  or  worst,  and  felt  her 
heart  assailed  by  alternating  emotions  of 
joy  and  dread,  each  more  poignant  than  the 
other;  but  it  was  joy  that  predominated, 
with  an  eager,  trembling  impatience  to 
clasp  him  in  her  arms  and  give  him  a 
mother's  kiss. 

Again  she  scanned  the  long  row  of  faces 
that  rose  above  the  bulwarks  and  stretched 
without  break  or  interruption  from,  fore- 
castle to  quarterdeck.  Her  boy,  why  was 
he  not  there  upon  the  deck,  with  all  the 
others  ?  Her  heart  sank  and  a  sensation 
of  icy  dread  came  over  her  incontinent 
merely  because  she  had  not  seen  him  yet — 
and  still  there  was  nothing  strange  in  that, 
as  she  strove  to  make  herself  understand, 


286  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

since  he  might  be  on  duty  in  the  between- 
decks.  Her  fears  mastered  her  judgment ; 
she  lost  her  head  for  a  moment  and  di- 
rected her  boatman  to  run  his  craft  in 
closer,  heedless  of  the  warning  gestures  of 
the  sentry  at  the  gangway,  a  rough  untu- 
tored lad  of  Brittany,  who  held  his  musket 
tight  clutched  in  one  hand  and  with  the 
other  signaled  them,  "  Keep  off,  keep  off  ! 
You  can't  come  on  board ;  it  is  not  per- 
mitted yet ! " 

On  board  the  ship  Jean's  five  friends,  who 
had  gathered  about  the  foot  of  the  main- 
mast, held  a  consultation  in  whispered, 
frightened  tones.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Notify  the  officer  of  the  deck,  opined 
Marec.  M.  Tanguy  was  on  duty,  a  good 
fellow  and  a  gentleman,  who  would  come 
and  break  the  news  to  her  gently. 

"Ah,  poor  lady!"  Pierre  Joal  replied, 
"  he  may  break  it  gently  or  abruptly,  it's 
all  one,  with  what  there  is  to  tell  her." 

Merciful  Heavens !  and  there  was  the 
health  boat  corning  alongside,  almost  on 


JEAN  BERNY,   SAILOR  287 

board  of  them.  It  would  not  be  possible 
to  keep  the  poor  mother  off  longer,  she 
must  be  allowed  to  come  on  board  with  the 
others;  nay,  she  must  be  nearest  of  them 
all,  holding  on  by  the  rungs  of  the  side- 
ladder,  doubtless,  in  spite  of  orders  to  the 
contrary,  for  even  now  they  could  hear  her 
voice  demanding  of  the  sentry  in  altered, 
palpitating  tones,  vvhere  was  Jean  Berny  f 
And  the  young  man,  unversed  in  the  world's 
ways,  but  who  had  nevertheless  known 
from  the  beginning  that  it  was  his  com- 
rade's mother,  remained  like  a  fixture  at 
the  gangway,  where  his  appointed  station 
was,  his  face  of  a  bright  scarlet  up  to  the 
very  roots  of  his  hair,  feigning  not  to  under- 
stand the  question  that  came  to  him  from 
below,  turning  his  head  and  casting  beseech- 
ing looks  on  those  who  had  been  the  dead 

O 

man's  friends,  as  if  appealing  to  them  to 
come  to  his  assistance,  and  quickly. 

"  Jean  Berny — you  know  whom  I  mean- 
Jean      Berny,     the    quartermaster  ?"     the 
poor,   supplicating    voice    went    on,   now 


288  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

almost  inaudible   in   its  anguish  and   dis- 
tress. 

Then  Pierre,  in  his  alarm  at  the  immi- 
nent prospect  of  her  boarding  the  ship, 
suddenly  resolved  upon  a  course  that  would 
bring  matters  to  a  crisis.  Taking  from  his 
pocket  the  little  book  in  which  he  kept  the 
roll  of  his  boat's  crew,  he  wrote  with  a 
pencil  in  large,  unsteady  characters :  "  Jean 
Bemy  died  at  sea,  a  month  ago,"  tore  out 
the  leaf,  folded  it  once  across,  and  ran  and 
gave  it  to  the  sentiy :  "  Give  her  that,  my 
boy,  give  her  that,  quick  !"  and  thereon  fled 
to  the  depths  of  the  ship,  with  a  great 
dread  on  him,  as  if  he  had  struck  her  with 
a  knife,  and  followed  by  the  other  four, 
who  no  more  than  he  could  endure  to  hear 
that  mother's  cry  of  anguish. 

When  they  returned  to  the  deck  a  few 
minutes  later  a  cold,  penetrating  rain .  was 
falling  and  the  wind  was  blowing.  All 
the  small  boats,  without  exception,  had 
either  left  or  were  making  ready  to  leave, 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  289 

their  skippers  terrified  by  the  squall  that 
had  come  up  so  quickly  and  had  such  an 
ugly  look  about  it. 

With  timid,  hesitating  steps  they 
approached  the  gangway  to  see  what  had 
become  of  the  boat  that  contained  Jean 
Berny's  mother — and  they  recognized  it 
without  difficulty,  ten  yards  away  on  the 
ship's  quarter,  just  finishing  getting  up  its 
sail ;  in  the  stern  sheets,  on  the  flooring, 
was  a  human  form  that  one  of  the  boat- 
men was  holding  in  restraint,  because  it 
struggled  as  if  with  an  intention  of  casting 
itself  overboard.  A  piece  of  coarse  sail- 
cloth had  been  spread  over  it,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  corpse,  but  the  protecting  canvas 
was  insufficient  to  conceal  a  woman's  be- 
drabbled,  rain-soaked  hat,  with  a  gray 
feather  pitifully  sweeping  the  muddy 
planks,  and  a  hand,  from  which  the  glove 
had  been  partially  removed,  whose  fingers 
were  stained  with,  blood.  The  little  Breton 
sentry,  whose  face  was  pale  enough  now, 
with  a  great  tear  trickling  down  each 


290  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

cheek,  said  to  them  in  explanation  ;  "  It 
was  this  way,  you  see ;  she  made  a  grab 
for  the  ladder,  thinking  to  climb  on  board, 
and  the  iron  bar  stripped  her  finger-nails 
clean  off." 

"  My  God,  my  God  ! "  said  Pierre  Joal,  in 
deep,  low- toned  accents,  "  my  Lord  and 
God !  but  that  was  a  sorrowful  sight  to 
see,  though  ! "  He  did  not  long  continue 
to  see  the  sight,  however,  for  a  mist  came 
before  his  eyes ;  he  thought  of  his  own 
mother,  and  his  fortitude  abandoned  him 
entirely  ;  he  gave  a  great  gulp  and  choked 
back  a  rising  sob,  and  the  tears  streamed 
down  his  face,  mingling  with  the  driving 
rain  that  was  inundating  everything. 


LIII 

SHE  was  in  her  own  home,  whither  she 
had  been  conducted  or  carried  by  someone 
unknown  to  her  and  laid  upon  her  bed,  on 
which  she  had  remained  stretched,  for  how 
many  hours  she  could  not  have  told ;  wear- 
ing still  her  pretty  new  dress,  now  ruined 
by  rain  and  bilgewater,  and  on  her  feet 
her  muddy  shoes,  that  had  soiled  the 
immaculate  white  counterpane.  On  her 
wounded  hand  was  a  rude  dressing  that 
someone  had  placed  there,  but  she  had  dis- 
arranged it  amid  the  writhings  and  con- 
vulsive movements  of  her  arms  and  the 
red  drops  were  oozing  forth  again. 

All  through  the'night  she  had  had  spells 
of  heavy  stupor,  illuminated  from  within 
by  fitful,  incoherent  flashes  of  conscious- 
ness, in  which  images  of  her  dead  boy  were 

291 


292  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

ever  present,  and  each  time  that  she  aroused 
from  one  of  those  somnolent  spells  her 
awaking  was  more  heart  breaking  in  its 
lucidity,  as  soon  as  a  few  brief  seconds  had 
served  to  banish  the  illusion  that  she  had 
been  dreaming.  The  hideous  reality,  on 
the  contrary,  ever  continued  to  assert  itself 
more  and  more  distinctly.  In  her  poor  head, 
that  was  gradually  shaking  off  the  effect 
produced  by  the  first  benumbing  blow,  the' 
horrible  thing  was  establishing  itself  as  a 
fact,  ever  assuming  more  substantial  pro- 
portions, that  she  was  to  carry  with  her  as 

long  as  life  endured 

When  she  awoke  this  time  and  opened 
her  eyes  after  a  longer  period  of  somnolency 
it  was  daylight.  The  bright  morning  sun- 
shine was  streaming  into  the  room,  impas- 
sive as  if  life  had  known  no  change  since 
yesterday.  It  must  be  morning,  the  begin- 
ning of  another  fugitive  day,  it  mattered 
not  what,  a  day  of  spring  like  all  the  rest. 
She  awoke  with  the  indifference  of  a  woman 
dead,  for  time  and  for  eternity — and  for  all 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  293 

things  beside.  With,  the  horrible  impres- 
sion of  irremediable,  annihilating  disaster, 
that  was  slow  to  define  itself  clearly,  how- 
ever, in  the  tardily  progressive  return  of 
her  dazed  and  wearied  consciousness,  she 
looked  on  surrounding  objects  and  beheld 
them  as  from  the  bottom  of  a  pit,  as  if  she 
were  already  laid  in  her  grave.  She  had 
ceased  to  delude  herself  with  the  hope  that 
it  was  all  a  fantastic,  evil  dream  that  would 
pass  away ;  no,  the  knowledge  of  the  re- 
ality of  her  remediless  loss  was  now  im- 
pressed indelibly  on  her  mind.  Before 
proceeding  further  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
she  took  note,  always  with  the  most  per- 
fect indifference  and  unconcern,  of  the 
disorder  that  reigned  among  the  few  poor 
objects  that  until  now  had  been  guarded 
with  such  jealous  care.  Her  bed  defiled  by 
the  mud  off  her  shoes ;  the  hat  with  the 
gray  feather,  \^hich  looked  as  though  it  had 
been  dragged  through  the  gutter,  thrown 
negligently  on  a  chair ;  and  on  the  mantel- 
shelf the  most  fondly  cherished  of  her 


294  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

vases,  which  she  had  brought  from  their 
old  Provencal  home,  overturned  and  broken, 
its  flowers  scattered  on  the  floor.  Then  her 
glance  fell  on  two  women  who  were  sitting 
at  her  bedside — two  women  of  the  neigh- 
borhood who  had  taken  turns  during  the 
night  to  watch  and  restrain  her  from  doing 
violence  on  herself — and  at  last  the  atro- 
cious thing  burst  on  her  memory  with  more 
implacable  distinctness :  Ah,  her  boy ! 
her  boy,  her  Jean !  And  raising  herself 
with  a  violent  start  to  a  sitting  posture  on 
the  bed,  as  if  some  spring  within  her  had 
suddenly  given  way,  rending  and  lacerating 
her  being,  she  gave  utterance  to  a  succession 
of  appalling  shrieks,  tearing  her  forehead 
with  what  nails  were  left  to  her,  compress- 
ing her  head  with  both  her  hands  as  if  she 
would  crush  out  the  horrible  anguish  that 
was  within.  And  while  she  relieved  her 
soul  of  its  burden  of  misery.by  that  long 
wailing  cry  that  it  froze  the  blood  to  hear, 
the  two  watchers,  women  of  the  people, 
sat  by  and  looked  at  each  other  silently, 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  295 

through  eyes  dim  with  tears,  for  they,  too, 
were  mothers,  and  an  innate  sentiment  of 
delicacy  restrained  them  from  intruding  on 
her  sorrow  with  unavailing  words. 

But  presently,  seized  by  one  of  those 
imperious  impulses  that  often  visit  those 
in  torment,  impulses  that  prompt  to  fly,  to 
cast  one's  self  from  lofty  places,  to  beat 
one's  head  against  stone  walls,  she  leaped 
quickly  from,  her  bed,  holding  with  trem- 
bling fingers  by  the  white  curtains ;  then 
the  two  women  also  rose,  apprehensive  of 
what  she  might  attempt  to  do.  Her  face, 
seen  by  the  broad  light  of  day,  had 
changed  and  was  grown  ten  years  older, 
ravaged  and  wasted  in  a  single  night  by 
all  the  fatigue  of  her  life  of  humble  toil,  of 

O  ' 

unfruitful  struggle,  of  vain  waiting.  Her 
eyes  had  in  them  an  ugly  and  hateful 
expression  that  was  new  to  them  and  that 
suffering  had  doubtless  summoned  from 
the  dark  recesses  of  her  soul,  and  in  addi- 
tion to  all  that,  what  with  her  soiled  dress, 
her  disordered  _hair  and  the  sullen  droop 


296  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

of  the  lip,  she  looked  like  a  woman  of  the 
people,  she  had  the  air  of  one  of  those 
poor  creatures  who  have  succumbed  to 
poverty,  an  air  that  would  have  pained 
her  Jean  more  than  all,  had  he  been  there 
to  see. 

To  make  an  end  of  it,  that  seemed  the 
sole  thing  possible  left  her  to  do — throw 
open  a  window,  hurl  herself  out,  and  end 
the  chapter  of  her  life  on  the  cold  hard 
stones  below !  But  even  the  thought  of 
death  brought  no  sense  of  satisfaction  to 
her  distracted  brain ;  it  would  be  inade- 
quate, would  settle  nothing  to  her  liking. 
In  the  first  place  her  despair,  in  revolt 
against  the  cruel,  unseeing  God  who  had 
done  that  thing — in  revolt,  too,  against  man- 
kind and  against  all — felt  the  need  of 
remaining  yet  a  while  on  earth,  to  protest 
and  curse  her  fate.  Again,  to  leave  the 
world  like  that,  a  poor,  self-slain  old 
woman,  whose  remains  men  would  come 
and  carry  oft'  with  sensations  of  loathing 
and  disgust,  would  be  a  slur  cast  on  her 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  297 

son,  would  be  wanting  in  the  respect  due 
to  his  memory.  Moreover,  she  being  dead, 
there  would  be  no  living  creature  upon 
earth  to  cherish  his  remembrance ;  the 
adored  image  that  she  carried  in  her  heart, 
the  only  image  of  him  that  subsisted, 
would  be  destroyed,  he  would  be  the 
more  quickly  buried  in  the  depths  of  the 
dark  void — and  these  considerations,  acting 
on  her  mind  in  a  confused,  ill-defined  way, 
served  to  restrain  her.  And  yet,  what 
was  she  to  do  ?  Where  was  she  to  look  to 
find  the  courage  that  should  enable  her  to 
live  on  without  him  in  a  long  and  hopeless 
future  ? 

She  dragged  herself  wearily  up  and 
down  the  chamber,  casting  herself  down  in 
corners  and  resting  her  head  against  the 
wall. 

As  she  passed  the  table  she  unintention- 
ally swept  off  some  of  the  small  objects  on 
it  and  broke  them,  and  when  one  of  the 
women  who  had  been  there  over  night 
interfered  and  begged  her  to  "be  more 


298  JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR 

reasonable,"  she  returned,  and  with  a 
soul-harrowing  gesture,  broke  what  re- 
mained— those  things  that  she  prized  most, 
and  that  she  bad  preserved  for  years  and 
years  with  religious  care.  She  felt  an 
unreasoning  irritation  against  that  woman, 
who  had  no  business  there  and  insisted 
that  she  should  take  heed  to  trifles  like 
those  at  such  a  moment,  and  was  inclined 
to  let  her  know  that  she  cared  not  for  her, 
or  for  her  preaching,  or  for  anything  in  the 
wide  world  ;  that  all  was  void,  that  nothing 
existed  longer — now  that  her  Jean  was 
dead. 

She  shed  no  tears ;  it  was  nearly  twenty- 
four  hours  since  the  horrible  little  piece  of 
white  paper  had  been  handed  her  by  that 
sailor  on  the  Saone,  and  she  had  not  shed 
a  tear.  Her  features  wore  an  indescrib- 
able expression  of  fixity  that  was  almost 
sternness,  her  nose  was  pinched  and  thin,  a 
strongly  marked  vertical  furrow  occupied 
the  middle  of  her  forehead  and  extended 
to  the  eyes.  Her  lips  and  tongue  were 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  299 

hot  and  dry  ;  she  had  a  sensation  as  if  her 
brain  had  been  removed  and  replaced  by 
a  heavy  mass  of  iron,  and  her  temples 
seemed  to  be  hooped  with  a  tight-con- 
stricted band,  likewise  of  iron. 

She  had  moments  of  comatose  uncon- 
sciousness, somewhat  like  the  somnolent 
spells  of  the  previous  horror-fraught  night ; 
then  would  come  the  terrible  awakening, 
with  its  irresistible  impulse  to  beat  herself 
about  the  head  and  shriek  with  agony,  to 
disburden  herself  of  those  long,  hoarse 
groans  that  comfort  a  little  while  they 
last. 

Thus  passed  all  the  morning  and  almost 
all  the  day.  She  put  oft'  the  moment  of 
dying,  principally  because  she  was  watched, 
and  she  found  the  presence  of  those  women 
irksome,  who  persisted  so  obstinately  in 
remaining  there.  In  her  more  lucid 
moments  her  despair  continually  gained 
greater  strength  and  depth,  penetrating  her 
with  its  mortal  chill  to  the  very  marrow  of 
her  bones ;  each  time  she  evoked  a  fresh 


300  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

memory  of  Jean,  each  time  one  of  their 
plans,  now  dashed  to  the  ground  and 
ruined  hopelessly,  came  to  her  mind,  she 
felt  the  grasp  of  the  inexorable  hand  upon 
her,  tighter,  more  relentless— 

What  had  her  boy  done  to  God,  he,  her 
son,  her  Jean,  her  handsome  Jean,  her  idol, 
her  sole  treasure  upon  earth  !  Never  an 
instant's  happiness  for  him !  Why  had 
childhood  and  youth  been  so  harsh  and 
unkind  to  him  ?  Denied  and  cast  off,  or 
nearly  so,  by  his  relatives  down  yonder, 
because  he  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
poor ;  then  abandoned  and  forgotten  by  that 
Madeleine,  by  all  the  world!  And  now, 
to  end  all,  this  miserable  death,  far  from 
his  mother — and  they  had  cast  him  into 
the  sea,  like  refuse  ! 

Her  thoughts  reverted  constantly  to  the 
window  that  she  must  open,  to  the  cruel 
flagstones  below  that  were  waiting  to 
receive  her  body,  but  each  time  respect  for 
the  memory  of  her  dead  boy  restrained  her 
from  carrying  out  her  purpose — and  also  an- 


JEAN  BEENY,  SAILOR  301 

other  and  more  trivial  consideration  that  had 
of  late  presented  itself  to  her.  She  called  to 
mind  her  Jean's  attachment  for  certain  small 
objects  of  his  own,  brought  from  Provence, 
that  he  had  intrusted  to  her  care,  and  for 
other  articles  of  use  or  ornament  in  their 
humble  home  that  were  owned  by  them  in 
common.  She  thought  regretfully  of  those 
she  had  broken  but  now.  As  for  the  others, 
into  what  hands  would  they  fall  when  she 
should  be  no  more,  what  profaning  touch 
awaited  them  ?  That  was  a  matter  that 
demanded  her  attention ;  she  would  wait 
for  the  morrow  to  give  her  clearer  ideas  on 
the  subject.  And  while  thinking  of  those 
poor,  paltry  little  things,  it  seemed  to  her 
a  moment  as  if  that  mass  of  iron  in  her 
head  were  softening,  were  on  the  point  of 
melting,  and  that  the  tension  of  her  feelings 
was  about  to  relax ;  but  no,  her  eyes 
remained  dry,  her  bosom  was  unshaken  by 
a  sob ;  her  grief  was  not  yet  ripe  for 
tears. 

A  sudden  desire  came  over  her  to  look 


302  JEAN  BEENT,   SAILOR 

again  on  the  pictures  of  her  boy,  all  the 
pictures,  taken  at  different  ages,  that  she 
had  kept  together  in  one  collection.  She 
had  scarcely  given  them  a  thought  for  the 
past  two  months,  engrossed  as  she  was  with 
anticipations  of  their  coining  meeting, 
when  her  eyes  were  to  feast  on  a  Jean  who 
would  doubtless  be  quite  unlike  him  of 
other  days,  a  full-grown  man,  handsome  as 
the  day,  a  Jean  of  twenty -four.  She  ran  to 
her  closet  to  get  the  portraits,  tossing  the 
objects  on  the  shelves  this  way  and  that  in 
her  impatient  haste.  Among  them  was 
one  that  she  loved  above  all  the  rest,  de- 
picting him  as  a  sailor,  with  his  bright 
boyish  smile  upon  his  face ;  this  photograph 
was  informed  with  that  visible  but  myster- 
iously inexplicable  something  which  pro- 
ceeds from  the  soul,  and  that  men  call 
expression;  a  last  reflection  of  his  soul  that 
now  was  wandering  in  the  great  realm  of 
night  and  darkness  lingered  in  that  small 
image,  upon  which  the  mother's  gaze  was 
bent.  And  as  she  gazed,  as  if  avaricious 


JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR  303 

of  her  suffering  and  unwilling  to  spare  her- 
self a  single  pang,  as  she  held  it  to  her 
eyes  and  looked  at  it  more  closely,  she  saw 
that  the  paper,  now  yellow  with  age, 
was  dotted  with  minute  white  specks,  the 
effect  of  the  humid  atmosphere  of  Brest. 
So,  she  was  not  to  be  allowed  even  to  keep 
his  picture  ;  that,  too,  was  to  be  taken  from 
her,  like  all  the  rest ! 

Oh,  and  the  "little  hat!"  She  felt  an 
uncontrollable,  frantic  impulse  that  bade 
her  look  on  it  again,  and  touch  it,  at  once, 
without  delay.  Approaching  the  window, 
where  the  light  was  stronger,  she  opened 
with  feverish  haste  the  old  green  bandbox, 
removed  the  protecting  gauze  that  en- 
wrapped the  precious  relic,  and  there,  faded 
and  antiquated,  it  lay  in  the  pale  sunshine 
of  the  northern  spring,  the  "  little  hat " 
that  had  been  first  assumed,  down  there  in 
bright,  warm  Provence,  to  do  honor  to  that 
luminous  Easter  festival,  now  buried  in 
the  past  with  the  other  swift  vanished 
years.  To  Jean  it  had  been  a  symbol  of 


304  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

all  that  was  best  and  brightest  in  his  happy, 
petted  childhood ;  it  had  served  to  remind 
him  of  the  handsome  clothes  he  was  given 
to  wear  on  Sundays  in  the  past,  and  of  all 
the  luxury  of  other  days  in  his  Provencal 
home — a  very  modest  luxury,  it  is  true, 
but  that  the  poor  child,  when  he  was  be- 
come a  sailor,  took  pleasure  in  magnifying 
in  recollection.  And  the  gracious,  curly 
head  that  once  had  worn  that  little  hat,  with 
its  ribbon  of  brown  velvet,  having  developed 
rapidly  into  a  virile  head,  had  been  granted 
barely  sufficient  time  to  dream  a  few 
dreams  that  were  never  to  be  realized,  to 
experience  the  delicious  trouble  of  love, 
and  now,  the  sport  and  plaything  of  the 
billows  in  the  obscure  depths  of  ocean,  it 
was  but  a  nameless  nothing,  of  less  account, 
more  neglected  and  forgotten  in  the  great 
scheme  of  infinity  than  the  least  of  the 
pebbles  on  the  shore— 

The  mother  turned  it  over  and  over  in 
her  nerveless,  trembling  hands,  and  never 
had  the  "little  hat"  appeared  to  her  so 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  305 

antiquated  and  old-fashioned  as  to-day, 
such  a  sorry  little  object,  so  like  a  relic  of 
a  dead  child.  She  even  detected  a  spot 
where  moths  had  eaten  the  velvet,  and 
here  and  there  were  patches  of  white 
mold :  the  beginning  of  the  labor  of  the 
infinitely  small  creatures  that  in  the  end 
are  appointed  to  triumph  over  all,  and  that 
commence  by  destroying  those  objects  on 
which  we  have  been  so  childish  as  to  place 
our  affections. 

What  was  she  to  do  now  with  the  "  little 
hat"  that  her  Jean  had  so  often  recom- 
mended to  her  care  ?  To  think  that,  wiien 
she  was  gone,  there  would  be  no  one  in  all 
the  world,  no  living  soul  who  had  loved 
her  boy  a  little,  to  whom  she  could  leave 
this  souvenir  of  him.  What,  then,  was  she 
to  do?  destroy  it  with  her  own  hands, 
commit  it  to  the  flames  ?  She  had  not  the 
courage.  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  what  was  she  to 
do  with  it  ?  And  the  existence  of  the  little 
brown  felt  head-covering  brought  to  her 
distracted  brain  an  additional  and  more 


306  JEAN  BERNT,   SAILOR 

horrible  complication.  It  was  an  obstacle 
that  kept  her  from  dying ;  and  yet,  even 
supposing  that  she  were  to  condemn  her- 
self, a  poor,  forlorn  old  woman,  to  drag  out 
a  lingering,  lonely  life  in  guarding  with 
useless  obstinacy  the  trifles  that  had  been 
his — what  then  ?  There  must  come  an  end 
sometime,  and  the  fate  of  the  loved  objects 
would  only  be  the  worse;  the  dear  gar- 
ments profaned  by  the  touch  of  strange, 
mercenaiy  hands,  sold  to  the  old-clothes- 
man and  the  second-hand  dealer 

Oh,  the  pitiful  thought,  the  "  little  hat," 
the  dear  little  hat  of  that  long-vanished 
happy  Eastertide,  being  carried  away 
among  filthy  rags  and  refuse  in  the  basket 
of  a  rag-picker !  She  pictured  the  thing 
in  her  mind's  eye,  and  at  the  suggestion  it 
seemed  to  her  that  there  was  a  general 
breaking  up  of  everything  within  her;  this 
time  the  mass  of  iron  that  had  so  oppressed 
her  did  actually  melt  and  dissolve  away,  in 
her  head,  in  her  heart,  everywhere  through- 
out her  being.  Her  bosom,  shaken  at  first 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  307 

by  a  few  convulsive  movements,  presently 
began  to  labor  with  a  quicker  and  more 
interrupted  motion  than  in  ordinary  breath- 
ing, and  finally  she  sank  into  a  chair, 
bowed  her  head  upon  the  table,  and  with 
thick-coming  sobs  wept  the  first  scalding 
tears  of  the  childless  mother. 

Bat  it  was  only  a  physical  crisis,  the 
equilibrium  of  life  reasserting  itself,  one  of 
those  reactions  of  the  overtaxed  nervous 
system  that  are  generally  brought  about 
by  the  veriest  trifles,  and  that  afford  a  little 
temporary  relief  to  the  afflicted  one  by 
substituting  one  ill  for  another. 

True  peace  of  mind  it  seemed  as  if  she 
was  never  to  look  for  more,  never  in  this 
life.  She  was  like  one  condemned  to  tor- 
ture, whose  punishment  consists  in  remain- 
ing bound  to  a  stake  or  to  a  cross  until 
death  comes  to  his  release,  and  who  has 
not  even  the  distraction  of  bodily  pain  to 
dull  his  thoughts  while  waiting  for  the  last 
stern  agony.  Heavy  gates  of  lead  had 
closed  before  her,  shutting  out  life,  as 


308  JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR 

impenetrable  and  immovable  as  the  gates 
of  hell.  Alone,  alone  in  the  world,  a  child- 
less, hopeless,  prayerless  old  woman,  who 
would  some  day  soon  be  taken  up  from  the 
beach,  drowned,  or  from  the  pavement,  a 
blood-stained  corpse 


LIV 

BUT  about  twilight  of  that  second  day, 
as  she  sat  there  on  her  chair,  from  which 
she  had  not  stirred,  her  eyes  dry  once  more, 
her  temples  throbbing  with  fever,  her  dis- 
tracted mind  incapable  of  thought — as  she 
sat  there,  her  roving  gaze  rested  on  the 
wall  in  front  of  her,  where  were  two 
images :  the  Virgin,  white  in  her  white 
veils,  with  the  date  of  Jean's  first  com- 
munion inscribed  below,  and  a  crucifix, 
Christ's  head  bowed  upon  the  cross.  The 
women  who  had  watched,  seeing  her  more 
calm,  had  left  her,  and  she  was  alone — as 
it  was  appointed  she  should  be  from  now 
on  till  death. 

In  the  deepening  shadows  a  few  rays  of 
the  dying  daylight,  at  once  an  illumination 
and  an  appeal,  lingered  on  the  two  sacred 
images.  And  as  she  gazed  on  them  with 

309 


310  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

her  poor  haggard  eyes,  a  great  wave  of 
tenderness  swept  o'er  her,  that  this  time, 
however,  came  from  the  deepest  recesses  of 
her  soul ;  a  feeling  of  deep  peace  gradually 
filled  all  her  being,  and  tears  came  to  her 
eyes  again,  but  less  salt  and  bitter  than 
they  had  been  before.  Her  great  revolt 
was  ended ;  acting  in  obedience  to  a 
sudden  impulse,  she  rose  and  swiftly 
crossed  the  room,  and  cast  herself  upon  her 
knees  before  the  images,  with  face  upraised 
toward  them — and  there  all  her  being  was 
dissolved  in  a  sweet  ecstasy  yet  more  pro- 
found, that  caused  her  tears  to  flow  as  from 
an  abundant  spring.  The  celestial  prom- 
ised land  appeared  to  the  bereaved 
mother,  with  all  the  pledges  and  all  the 
radiant  allurement  of  Christian  immortality, 
as  it  is  understood  by  those  of  simple  faith 
and  as  it  must  be  to  afford  them  comfort 
and  consolation :  her  Jean,  her  well-be- 
loved and  she  would  meet  again  up  there 
above;  her  Jean,  unchanged,  in  human 
shape  and  still  a  child,  still  wearing  his 


JEAN  BERNY,  SAILOR  311 

bright  boyish  smile  of  earth,  who  would 
remember  their  old  home  in  Provence, 
would  remember  the  "little  hat"  and  the 
joyous  Easter  Sundays  of  the  vanished  past. 

Yes,  all  was  peace  once  more,  and  her 
rebellious  feelings  were  quieted,  as  fever 
is  subdued  by  the  application  of  cooling 
lotions.  Between  those  two  souls,  the  son's 
and  mother's,  each  issue  of  the  other,  some 
mysterious  link  that  had  snapped  had 
been  re-connected,  and  this  tie  served  to 
give  to  the  soul  that  remained  on  earth  the 
illusion  of  the  enduring  existence  of  the 
soul  that  had  departed. 

In  her  present  mood  of  resignation  she 
could  see  how  it  might  be  possible  for  her 
to  take  up  the  broken  thread  of  her  life 
and  spend  the  remainder  of  her  days  in 
solitude,  with  her  son  looking  down  on  her 
from  his  remote  abode ;  she  had  a  vision  of 
her  little  home,  once  more  made  neat  and 
orderly,  which  she  would  never  leave,  and 
of  her  mourning  garments,  that  she  would 
cause  to  be  fashioned  becomingly,  of 


312  JEAN  BERNT,  SAILOR 

decent  stuff  and  shape,  for  his  sake,  from 
respect  to  his  memoiy,  because  he  had 
always  wished  to  see  her  attired  as  a  lady. 
And  she  spoke  between  her  sobs,  saying, 
"Yes,  Lord,  I  will  submit  to  thy  will. 
Yes,  Lord,  I  will  live  on,  I  will  work,  I  will 
do  niy  best — until  the  time  comes  when 
thou  shall  see  fit  to  take  me  to  thyself ." 

O  Christ  of  those  who  weep,  O  Virgin 
immaculate  and  calm,  O  all  ye  adorable 
myths  and  legends  that  nothing  can  replace, 
that  alone  sustain  the  childless  mother 
and  the  motherless  child  and  give  them 
strength  and  courage  to  live  on,  that  make 
our  tears  less  bitter  and  bring  us  hope  and 
cheer  in  the  last  dark  hour,  blessings  rest 
on  ye ! 

And  we,  whom  ye  have  abandoned  for 
evermore,  let  us  bow  our  faces  in  the  dust 
and  kiss  with  tears  the  traces  of  your 
retreating  footsteps. 

THE   END. 


A    000129801     7 


